by Calvin Hecht
A kind of longer-term bonding took place that day, and the comfort level that each felt for the other was remarkable not only in its blooming intensity but in its maturity and their shared interests and values — they were a matched pair in so many ways. Both were excitedly looking forward to the future and what it might hold for the two of them.
Unfortunately, when school let out for the summer, Megan's parents thwarted the blooming relationship either intentionally or unawares. Perhaps Megan's parents thought the relationship was becoming too intense, but, whatever the reason, they sent Megan for the summer to an aunt and uncle and two cousins who lived on a farm in Iowa.
As it turned out, there would have been little chance for Megan and Kevin to get together during the summer anyway because Kevin, because of the need for him to contribute to the family's economic circumstance, ended up spending the summer seventy miles away in Grants, New Mexico, working six-days per week as a construction laborer for an uncle until the weekend before his and Curt's camping adventure.
On the other hand, the long summer of absence from each other had intensified the relationship — absence, in this case, truly made two hearts fonder as their frequent outwardly circumspect but hidden meaning snail mail letters and e-mails crisscrossed.
Kevin was looking forward — really looking forward — to seeing Megan again once school started next month; in fact, every time the thought of Megan struck Kevin, which was often, the butterflies would resume their frenzied dance.
~~~
Olive-complexioned, six-foot tall Curt was dressed differently from Kevin. Ever the western-wear aficionado, Curt wore faded blue denim Levis two inches too long so they sagged, dragged, and frayed according to "cowboy" fashion. A two-inch wide, hand-tooled leather belt held the Levis to Kevin's thin waist. The belt featured a large chromed "rodeo" buckle with a copper-colored frontal view of the head of a longhorn steer overlay.
Curt usually wore a western yoke-styled, long-sleeved shirt with pearl-like snap buttons. Today's shirt was a faded burnt orange color with muted orange-colored snaps. Keeping with cowboy fashion, Kevin kept his sleeves down and cuff snap buttons snapped.
Curt also wore an old pair of Mexican handmade cowboy-style western boots. Since he was thirteen years old, Curt had been buying expensive Mexican handmade boots from a hole-in-the-wall shop a few blocks north of Central Avenue on Second Street in downtown Albuquerque.
Over the years, Curt custom-ordered each expensive pair of black, soft leather boots, always featuring the same white leather thunderbird overlay surrounded by red and blue leather accents and fancy stitching on the sixteen-inch stovepipe-style uppers.
With two-inch walking heels adding to his height and the "roach killer" traditional pointed toes that he favored, Curt felt truly "cool and western" wearing his custom boots.
Curt had a new pair of boots, shined to a gloss that would make a Marine Corps drill sergeant proud, in his closet at home. Those were his dress boots, worn only on his infrequent dates and during what he called "church goin' times."
For the camping adventure, Curt was wearing an old knock-around pair of the same custom style. Curt was unconcerned that his old boots might get scuffed in the mountains; they were about worn out anyway. He also had an ulterior motive: Curt figured that if he could wear out his old boots during the camping adventure, he would have an excuse to begin wearing his closeted pair, and an excuse to order a new pair.
In addition, Curt delighted in teasing Kevin that his boots were better protection against rattlesnake bites — at least, he pointed out, when compared to Kevin's lower-cut work boots.
In addition, true to his cowboy dress code, Kevin wore a Justin straw western hat, steamed and hand-shaped to his liking.
In true cowboy fashion, Kevin made sure that the brim of his hat when on his head was parallel to the ground — none of that movie cowboy hat placement on the back of his head for Curt— no, siree! Instead, Curt wore his hat in the authentic New Mexico cowboy manner — squarely on his head of crew-cut black hair, pulled down to the top of his ears.
He was less handsome compared to Kevin, but Curt had a certain loner mystic about him that at once attracted members of the fairer sex but also held them at bay.
He dated occasionally but did not have a steady girlfriend. He simply fit girls into his life as an occasion to do so warranted.
Curt's passions in life were, in order, basketball, electronic gadgets, video games, and outdoor activities.
Curt's passion for electronic gadgets and outdoor adventure had coalesced into a hobby called "geocaching," an international pursuit by tens of thousands who hide small objects such as recycled 35mm plastic film canisters containing "tokens" or trinkets for other enthusiasts to find.
Geocaching enthusiasts, using GPS receivers, look for the hidden objects — the cache — by following clues and the GPS latitude and longitude coordinates of the hidden object as posted on the Internet by those doing the hiding.
Once a fellow enthusiast finds the hidden cache, the finder signs and dates a discovery sheet found in the discovered container, placing the sheet back in the cache container for the next enthusiast to find and sign. The finder then goes on the Internet to a geocaching site to describe or gloat over their latest find and add to their "found" score.
Curt was so intense about geocaching that he sought and gained permission from the high-school administration last semester to form an after-hours club of like-minded fellow students. They named their club "The Hide 'n' Seek Club."
And that was Curt — a bit of a tease, a genial, fun-loving, carefree kind of a guy, often irreverent, and sometimes engaging his mouth before his brain was in gear, although that did not mean he was unintelligent. He just listened to a different drummer and usually did his own thing.
~~~
Kevin and Curt retrieved their aluminum-framed, ripstop nylon backpacks from the pickup's bed. Each young man had packed his backpack the night before. Kevin's backpack was red; Curt's, blue.
Curt also grabbed the mini-duffle bag that contained their lightweight, blue and white, three-man dome tent. The tent, when assembled would measure seven feet by seven feet by five feet high — "three man" size because they figured they'd need the extra room to store their large backpacks at night and when day hiking.
They had one rifle. Kevin would carry his Stevens single-shot, bolt-action .22 caliber rifle, a Christmas gift from his father and mother three years before. Kevin had rigged the rifle with a makeshift sling for ease of carrying over his shoulder.
Kevin and Curt each also carried identical hunting knives with eight-inch blades complete with brown leather sheaths. They had purchased the knives together in Albuquerque on Saturday, three days ago. Each had looped the sheath containing its knife onto his trouser belt and positioned the knife on his right hip.
Kevin and Curt each also wore a three-eighths inch thick, four-inch wide, dark green army surplus utility belt on the outside of their trousers, effectively hiding most of their sheathed knives, and also hiding, in Curt's case, his shiny western belt buckle.
Each of the young men had two army surplus canteens of water attached to their respective utility belts. Each canteen was mated with a metal, folding-handle cup that the canteen slid into as a unit. Each canteen and cup unit was then secured inside a lined, faded olive-green canvas-like cover embossed with an equally faded black "U.S." Two snap flaps on each cover secured each canteen within its cover. The covers, in turn, attached to the utility belts using the canteen covers' unique hooks inserted into the belt's equally unique reinforced grommets.
Thus attached to their utility belts, each young man carried one canteen on his left hip, and a second canteen on his right hip.
In the breaking dawn, the young men helped each other hitch up their heavy backpacks laden with foodstuffs, water purification tablets, extra clothing, identical red nylon windbreaker jackets, light-weight nylon day backpacks for casual day hiking,
matches, first aid kit, hard candy, roll of aluminum foil, toilet paper, hand soap, soaped scouring pads, army mess kits and utensils — and assorted military MREs — Meal, Ready to Eat purchased from a supplier on eBay by Curt two weeks before.
Their gear also included two mini fishing rods and reels, complete with monofilament line and a small plastic box containing a dozen artificial lures, an extra leader, shot weights, and hooks for live bait.
Each young man also had a sleeping bag in a rainproof sleeve secured to his backpack.
In addition, each carried a fully charged cell phone, a hand-held magnetic compass, and a rubber suction cup-type snakebite kit, complete with a stainless steel mini-razor to incise any venomous snakebite and allow the suction cup to extract quickly the venom.
Kevin also carried his GPS receiver — he never went anywhere without it — secured in his snap-buttoned, right shirt pocket.
In short, Kevin and Curt brought everything — and then some — that they could remember from their collective experiences during a half dozen past camping experiences as former Cub and Boy Scouts.
Curt volunteered to carry the rolled-up three-man tent in addition to his backpack and sleeping bag combination.
In an attempt to do his fair share of the load, Kevin carried a military-style, folding shovel, also known as a trenching tool, strapped to the outside of his backpack. In addition, Kevin carried their one utility axe in a protective sheath, similarly attached to his backpack.
Taking into account that Kevin was also carrying a rifle and Curt was not, the loads were pretty much equally distributed.
Thus outfitted, the young men in typical male teenage machismo felt ready for anything they might encounter in the wilderness — or the world, for that matter.
~~~
Yes, Kevin and Curt were confident in their preparation, but they would find themselves totally unprepared for an event that would happen later.
~~~
Just before the young men pushed off into the wilderness, Ken reached into an inside jacket pocket and pulled out a pocket-sized New Testament with a camouflaged cover. It was the type of Bible that Christians in the military often carry as a comfort, particularly when in harm's way, not that the New Testament had any supernatural powers of protection, but those who chose to carry it often carried it simply as a testament to their faith.
Ken, with the earnestness of a loving father, insisted Kevin take it, saying, "During the week, you might have some quiet time to read and reflect. Least wise, I pray you will. You know I'd like you to follow in my footsteps and become a pastor, too. We've talked about it several times. I'd love to see that, but the decision is between you and God. Like I said, maybe you'll be able to find some quiet time while you're up here to read the Bible — this New Testament — and maybe find some direction, some answers. Will you do that for your ole dad, Son?"
Kevin took the New Testament and looked at it hard for a moment before placing it his shirt pocket. "Sure, Dad. I know. Give me time. I'm thinking about it, and thanks." And Kevin gave his father a quick embrace.
Curt, leaning over the side of the pickup bed to grab the last item needed — a fifty foot long, half-inch diameter climbing rope — could not help but see Ken on the opposite side of the pickup hand the New Testament to his son and overhear Ken's words and hear and see Kevin's response.
Curt was interested, if not just plain nosey in what Kevin's eventual decision might be, because he knew Kevin's father had been pressuring Kevin about a career choice in the Christian ministry for several months, but from what little Kevin shared with Curt about the issue, Curt knew that Kevin remained stubborn and increasingly reluctant to talk about it. Maybe Kevin's got other plans for a career and just doesn't want to disappoint his father, crossed Curt's mind.
As Kevin and his father continued their conversation, Curt pulled out his GPS receiver from his shirt pocket, turned it on, and was pleased to see the unit was picking up six navigation satellites. He toggled to Mark and the receiver's Waypoint screen popped up. He scrolled to Note and quickly typed "pick up" to identify his current location. The device told him that the location coordinates he had entered were accurate within fifteen feet. Close enough, he grinned to himself — he loved his GPS receiver.
~~~
Finally, the young men were ready. Kevin and his father embraced; Curt shook Ken's hand and thanked him for the transportation.
Ken said, "Have fun. Take care. Be safe," and then whispered in his heart a silent prayer to God, asking for protection for his son and his son's friend, praying in-keeping with the Lord's Prayer that God's will be done on earth as it is in Heaven.
As the young men turned to cross the meadow and pick up the trail in the stand of Gambel oaks that they hoped — and their U.S. Forest Service map said would be there — Ken raised his voice and said, "Don't forget, I'll see you at this same spot next Monday at noon for pick up!"
Without turning his head, Kevin raised his right arm and hollered back with a laugh, "I don't think we'll forget, Dad!" whereupon Curt gave a gentle shove to Kevin's shoulder, momentarily knocking Kevin with his heavy backpack off stride. Kevin feigned a shove back, and Curt swatted at Kevin's outstretched arm. Each laughed and teased the other.
Ken could see the young men were in high spirits. A part of Ken envied the carefree age and attitude of the young men being so much different from the heavy responsibilities of spiritually shepherding a congregation of three hundred plus souls three times weekly, including individual congregant's needs at times of sickness, bereavement, and emotional and spiritual distress.
Although Ken had a smile on his face as he watched Kevin and Curt disappear into the stand of oak, there was concern in his heart — the young men were going to backpack far into the Jemez wilderness for a week plus one day, and although the pastor was proud and supportive of his son, yet there was the normal parental concern — or was it a premonition?
Ken whispered his concerns to his God in silent prayer.
~~~
Only days later would Pastor Ken find that his concerns were well founded.
Chapter Two
A Wrong Decision
After six unrelenting hours of steady but leisurely hiking, the young men came upon a shallow exposure of light grey dacite lava that had cooled several million years ago. They decided to take a short rest and shrugged off their backpacks.
Kevin sat down and leaned against his backpack. Curt wandered off a ways, exploring and then returned to the slab of rock and sat down a dozen feet from Kevin.
The resting place was idyllic; the rock was smooth and warm. In addition, Kevin and Curt, although not articulating the feeling to each other, felt a sense of being far removed from civilization. It was as if the rest of the world did not exist — exactly the kind of pre-school escape both had wanted to experience.
The light wind sighed through the tall ponderosa pines just yards away on either side of the trail.
A pesky deerfly circled the stopped duo, finally deciding to find other prey and zoomed off after Curt took a swat at it.
Two less formidable flying creatures — two white butterflies —choreographed a ballet of greeting, finally landing next to each other on the far end of the living room-sized rock to soak up some heat for a moment, wings twitching, only to resume their ballet to the subconscious delight of Kevin and Curt.
~~~
Curt was the more adventuresome of the two, and it was at his suggestion that the camping trip was happening at all. In fact, Curt had contacted the Jemez Ranger Station in Santa Fe some weeks before and received several maps of the Jemez mountains from which Curt determined which trail to take and where he and Kevin intended to camp for the week.
The hiking goal for the first day was to reach a deserted one-time ranger cabin known as Sergeant's Bluff Cabin in a valley west of 11,000-plus-foot elevation Redondo Peak.
The cabin appeared to be at about the 9,000-foot elevation ac
cording to the topographical map; however, not all the valleys and hills were named on the map, and even when they were named, they were difficult to distinguish from each other because of so many difficult-to-follow elevation contour lines on the map meandering in every direction.
"Viejo Trail," the particular trail Curt had picked, was a trail not recommended by the USFS for several reasons: One, it was considered "difficult" in the sense of being steep and physically demanding and dangerous in several spots, seldom used, and not well-defined, nor maintained; two, it bordered on areas of Redondo Peak that local pueblo peoples considered sacred, which, in turn, meant that not many people dared hiking the area and accidentally encroaching on land considered sacred to Native Americans.
Nevertheless, those factors simply added to Curt's desire to use Viejo Trail not so much because he was inclined to test any limits — personal or Native American cultural — but because his love for nature and the outdoors was such that he would avoid using a more common usage trail for fear of running into other hikers, or, heaven forbid, arriving at a camping spot only to find a half dozen or more campers and tents already there.
Indicative of Curt's passion for pristine wilderness and the ultimate outdoor experience was that a few months ago he had contacted an uncle in Alaska who had some influence with the Alaska Department of Fish and Game, expressing a desire to work for the department in some outdoor capacity after high school graduation.
Thanks to his uncle's connections, the Alaska Game and Fish Department accepted Curt's application contingent on Curt attaining his high school diploma and reaching the age of nineteen.
Curt's uncle told him that the job would be as a private contractor counting salmon for one-hundred days straight and keeping certain records at specific times each day at a particular stream on a lonely island in the far Aleutians. His uncle went on to tell him that Curt would be the only human being on the island. In fact, Curt would be so isolated that a floatplane would have to fly in supplies every three weeks, courtesy of the State of Alaska.
To say Curt was excited in anticipation of his Alaska adventure and in being one-with-nature in most every sense of the word would be an understatement.