by Nancy Cupp
Doug smiled, “Yes she is. But she didn’t show up for work and we’re worried about her. It’s unlike her not to let someone know where she is.”
“Aw, she can handle herself, she even let us teach her a little climbing,” another climber added.
“Just the same, call us if you see or hear anything, okay?” Paul said, getting up to leave.
“Where’d you get all the stew from?” Doug asked, seeing the empty cardboard box waiting to become part of the campfire.
“We got it from a truck driver up by Lee Vining. She said it was a damaged case.”
“Have you been in Indian Canyon in the past few days?”
“Not in the Canyon, but there’s a nice climbing wall over there, on this side of it.”
“We found some cans over there, when were you there?”
“Sorry—we climbed that wall on Monday.”
“Did you see anyone else over in that area?”
“Only a couple of families with kids hiking the trail to El Capitan.”
“Okay—you know how to get in touch. Thanks guys,” said Doug.
The park service had equipped the climbing village with a satellite phone to use in case of an accident or emergency. Since cell phone service was unreliable, the satellite saved several lives over the years when there were serious climbing accidents.
Bobby’s brother, Jason, had a fall high on the rock wall. His rope protection caught him, but he slammed hard into the unforgiving granite. The rescue team was on the scene fast, but by the time they were able to get him down, Jason had died.
☙
The next morning Curt was up before the sun and back at the office sipping coffee. Paul offered to let him stay at his apartment. The complex housed many of the park’s employees, and was right in the park. The two men weren’t exactly friends, but it did help not to have to drive all the way back to Merced.
Curt would have stayed at Patty’s, he still had a key, but he was convinced that it was a crime scene. Questions flooded his brain and robbed him of sleep. Paul was up most of the night too, Curt had heard him pacing in the living room.
The sky was grey and it was a little windy when Paul got to the office at eight o’clock. He nodded a greeting to Curt. “I guess we have to open the office. Hikers are getting steamed about not being able to get a permit. If they can’t get one, they just take off on a trail and we have no idea where to look when someone files a missing person report.”
“I know,” replied Curt. “We don’t need any more missing people to look for. Thanks Paul, for your help.”
“We still have nothing—nobody saw anything? Just the necklace?”
“That’s right, just the…necklace.” Curt’s voice caught on the word necklace.
Paul issued several hiking permits and gave out some maps. His usual speech about bear safety was a little flat, but he got the job done. Around ten, the weather service issued a warning about a cold front coming through, with the possibility of snow in the high country.
“That’s it, no more permits for today,” Paul told the remaining hikers in the office. “You don’t want to get caught in the high country in a snow storm.” With that, Paul made a sign for the front door and locked it.
A couple of minutes later there was a knock on the door. “I said no more per….Oh—hi Lance,” said Paul, letting him in.
“Hey did you issue a permit to a short, chunky woman with glasses, real bookish, for Half Dome?” asked Lance. “Margret Malone I think her name was.”
“Not that I remember,” said Paul looking at his list. “No—not listed here, why?”
“She said she was going to Half Dome, but I told her not to. She’s just not the hiking type—and she isn’t in her yurt. It doesn’t look like she stayed there either.”
Hearing the name Margret Malone, Curt came out of the back room. Lance and Curt’s eyes met in an icy stare. The two men had been rivals since high school.
Curt was a star athlete on the track and field team and quarterback for the football team. Lance, a wrestler, was on the football team too, as a tackle. The rivalry was old, but both still held a grudge over competition for the top spots on sports teams—and girls.
Curt remembered their homecoming dance. Patty was his date. Lance kept asking her to dance, she declined politely, but he was persistent. Curt told him to leave her alone, and Lance got mad. He kept shoving until Curt took a swing connecting solidly with Lance’s jaw. It got them both ejected from the dance, and Patty went home—alone.
Setting his feelings aside, Curt said, “Malone—that was the woman who found Patty’s necklace.”
“She still hasn’t turned up yet?” asked Lance, “Probably just out digging around with them Indians in their sacred spots again.”
Curt’s jaw tightened, “Do you have any real information, Larson?”
“Just checking up on one of my guests. Not my fault you can’t keep track of your woman,” Lance growled back at him.
Paul stepped in, “Thanks for reporting about the Malone woman Lance. Let me know if she turns up. And if you hear anything about Patty, report it right away.”
“I’ll call you later,” said Lance. He turned and walked out the door.
☙
Curt sat at his desk, rubbing his forehead. The phone on his desk rang and he snatched up the receiver. “Thanks Doug. We’ll go down there right away and talk to them.” Grabbing his jacket and keys he yelled, “Let’s go Paul—I’ll explain on the way.”
As the two men drove toward the climber’s camp Curt explained what the call was about. “He said Bobby called him on the satellite phone. One of the younger climbers came back to camp all shook up about something he saw in the river. He said he didn’t know for sure what it was, but the kid was real upset.” Dread hung over the truck as they rode the rest of the way in silence.
The sky was darkening to a leaden grey matching the granite cliffs that rose on either side of the valley. Boughs of trees rose and fell on the wind. The air was rapidly cooling, foreshadowing a storm.
Curt drove over a rough, makeshift road to the climber’s village. An unofficial campground, the primitive site had no maintained roads. Water had to be carried in by campers from another facility or dipped out of the river and purified. Bathroom facilities were upgraded to a Porta-Potty, but bathing was done in the icy river.
Bobby met them as they drove in. “Joaquín is over there,” he said, pointing to a camp site between two huge boulders. There was a small crowd of climbers gathered around a youth of about eighteen years.
He sat on a low campstool with a cup of hot tea cradled in his hands, although he didn’t drink it. Someone had wrapped a wool blanket around his shoulders, and a dark haired woman crouched nearby gently speaking to him.
Joaquín rocked on his stool, staring into the fire. Curt and Paul didn’t speak, but quietly sat down on an old chair and a log.
It was about five minutes before he spoke. Joaquín lifted his eyes, and said, “It was down by the river. In the shallow part, on a sand bar where the bend is. It was just rocking back and forth, back and forth, in the current.” His face contorted and he started to sob.
The dark haired woman wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly. She looked up at the men and whispered. “We didn’t go down there. We thought we better call you first.” Paul and Curt rose to leave without speaking. As he turned away she said, “I’m sorry, Curt…”
Curt’s stomach lurched, and his breath came in ragged gasps. In his heart, he knew Patty was gone. He gave a slight nod and walked toward the river on legs that didn’t want to move.
Paul thanked them, then followed Curt to the river. As they approached the river, the men paused looking around for any disturbance in the area. Paul looked at Curt and gave him a nod.
Parting tall grasses that grew on the bank, Curt stepped down the embankment and took a few steps to the right scanning the water. Then he turned and walked back up the river. Paul stepped down the bank to t
he river just in time to see Curt drop to his knees in anguish.
“No!” Curt yelled, the single syllable echoed from the walls of the park that Patty loved.
Curt’s entire body convulsed with sobs. Paul ran to him, seeing the cause of such agony. On a sand bar, in shallow water, was Patty Waters’ head.
It took all of Paul’s fortitude to call in the information. He gave their location and asked the Park Police to send out some men. “We’ll need to do a thorough search of this area.”
Then he requested an ambulance, “There is a…,” he hesitated to regain his composure, “a—body to be picked up. We need a paramedic too.”
“Was there a struggle? Have there been injuries?” asked the voice on the radio.
“Negative” said Paul into the mic. “Medical is needed to attend to the witnesses.”
As hypothermia robbed them of function and reason, Paul helped Curt to climb up the bank, out of the river. They collapsed, cold and wet, on the ground under an ancient oak tree. As they wept, images gripped their minds changing each of them forever.
Patty’s head lay on the side of her face in the river. Her mouth was slightly open, her expression blank. A tiny gold earring with a sparkling diamond glittered on her ear. Part of her blonde hair clung to her cheek and forehead.
One eye was open under the clear water the other half closed. Her skin, milky white, had no blood or smudges. A flap of flesh, hanging from the ragged tear across her throat, floated in the water.
14
Adventure
At dawn Joseph got up and stirred the campfire back to life. He put water in a shiny new pot to boil for coffee. He’d need it to get the woman up and going this morning. What did she say her name was? Martha? No—Margret, he remembered.
The pot and coffee were hers, along with the tent he pitched for her. Joseph wondered what her story was. Why did she come out here carrying so much gear? She didn’t seem to have any skills for hiking although she had enough equipment for a long stay in the wilderness.
☙
Margret had wandered off the trail the night before and was so confused that she just sat down and cried. She was exhausted, lost, scared, and had no idea what to do with all the stuff she’d dragged along. She hadn’t seen anyone for several hours and no one knew she’d gone hiking.
She stumbled and fell twice. Her knees and hands were skinned and bleeding. The new high tech pants she wore were torn and damp from the Mist trail.
It was getting dark and colder. Uncontrollable shivering made her fingers useless. She couldn't seem to think clearly. She had dry clothes in her pack, but she didn’t think about putting them on.
Joseph had spotted her from his perch high on the rocks above. He watched her confused wandering for a half-hour. He wasn’t sure if she was searching for something, if she was hurt, or merely lost.
If she was a tourist, how could she wander this far off the trail? Tourists usually carried nothing, not even water. Hikers traveled in groups, and knew enough to make camp. She had a backpack that looked well stocked, but she didn’t make camp.
Margret hadn’t brought enough water, only consuming a half-liter bottle at the top of the falls. Much of her confusion was due to dehydration. Her brain was shutting down, making it impossible to think or reason.
There were plenty of water sources, but they required purification. Even the most pristine looking water carries the threat of Guardia, and severe diarrhea. She should’ve carried enough for the entire trip, or had a system to make it safe to drink. Even boiling would have worked—if she’d known how to start a fire.
When Joseph saw her sit down and not get up again, he knew she was in trouble. He’d seen some bears foraging for food in the area, it wouldn’t be long until they got curious enough to investigate.
The bears weren’t malicious, they were simply trying to put on enough fat to hibernate for the winter months. Omnivores, bears will eat almost anything, and backpacks always had good things to eat in them.
When he came down to help her, Joseph realized right away she was just a lost, misinformed tourist. He gave her some water from his canteen, explaining the funny taste from the iodine tablets he used. He asked her if she’d eaten, then gave her some of his jerky when he learned she only had candy and trail mix.
Her blank look told him that she had no idea how to pitch her tent. He set it up and rolled out her sleeping bag inside. “I’ll be close by,” he said, noticing the panicked look on her face. “Crawl in and get some sleep.”
☙
Margret began to stir in her tent. When she popped her head out of the flap, she saw Joseph sitting nearby sipping coffee. “Ohh—I have such a headache!” she moaned. The air was cold and crisp, the sky grey. She moved over to the campfire to warm herself.
“You’re still dehydrated. Here—drink this coffee,” he said, holding out a cup. She took it, and sat down, grateful for the caffeine.
“Ouch,” she said, “I’m really sore.” She sipped her coffee. When it was gone, she looked around, “I need to use the restroom.”
Joseph grinned and pointed toward the trees. “Don’t go too far into the woods, there are bears around.”
“Bears,” she gasped. She wouldn’t have gone into the woods at all, except she was desperate to relieve herself. When she came back, Joseph gave her some more jerky. “I have some food in my pack,” she said.
“You need to eat this,” he said, “you shouldn’t be out here.” He took a small jar out of his woven backpack. “This is made from yarrow root. Let me see your hands.” He smeared the salve on her skinned hands and knees. “It’ll stop the pain and prevent infection,” he explained.
Casting her eyes down she said, “I know I really messed up. Thanks for helping me—I don’t know what I would have done.” Joseph listened as she went on, “How do I get back? I don’t even know where I am. Can you take me back—can we call someone?” She forgot her cell phone was useless, even if it did have a charge.
“No,” he said. “You’ll have to come with me. I have to get home. It’s important that I get there right away.”
He got up and started to take down her tent and gather her things together. Margret would be a problem. She’d slow him down, but he had no other choice.
He couldn’t just leave her, she’d never find her way back, even if she could carry her stuff. When he had everything loaded in her pack he hoisted it onto his back along with his own, and started walking.
“Hey wait a minute!” Margret cried as she hurried to catch up. Even with the heavy load Joseph was able to walk much faster than Margret could. “Where do you live? Can I call someone from there?”
Joseph kept walking, and Margret stumbled along behind him. “It’s near Lake Tenaya,” he said, “you can get a shuttle bus from there if the road isn’t closed.”
“What do you mean, road closed?”
“We’ve got to hurry, there’s a storm coming.”
“What?” said Margret, noticing the dark sky for the first time that morning. Joseph kept walking.
15
Joyce
Joyce turned on her radio as she drove north toward Carson City and Lake Tahoe. She was hoping to get a weather report. The sky looked ominous, and wind was rocking the truck a little. Driving in the mountains was one of her favorite trips, as long as the weather didn’t turn nasty.
She knew in the high country it could snow any time of the year. Handling the big rig could get tricky in snow, dangerous even. There were heavy chains in the gear compartment, but Joyce didn’t want to have to put them on if she could avoid it. When the weather got bad enough for chains it was time to find a parking spot and stay there.
The end of a news report on the radio announced that a missing ranger in Yosemite National Park had been found dead in the river. More details would follow as reports were released.
Too bad, Joyce thought. Jeez—not even flood season. The weather report wasn’t good news either. There was an early snow storm ex
pected, the result of a cold front moving through.
Joyce put on her head set and pressed three on her phone’s key pad to speed dial her driver manager, John. “Hi John, this is Joyce. Hey, I might have to shut down before I get to Reno. The Lake Tahoe area is expecting heavy snow.”
Joyce listened to John grumble about getting the load to Reno on time.
“I know it’s one of our big accounts, but if I put it in the ditch it won’t get there at all. If I can get past Tahoe, I’ll be heading down, and I should be able to keep rolling. I’ll keep you posted.”
John mentioned that if they missed the Reno delivery their next load from Sparks to Salt Lake City would be a no-go.
“I’ll try to keep rolling—can you try to get me set up with a load to Minnesota? I could use a little home time.”
John dangled a carrot, saying he could set up a load to Minnesota, if she could just take a load from Salt Lake to Vegas first.
“Um—John, that’s the wrong direction,” said Joyce.
John danced around that issue, and talked about all the freight coming out of Vegas.
“Okay, but I gotta be home by next weekend. It’s my cousin’s wedding,” Joyce lied, pressing the disconnect button on her headset.
“Yeah, direct to Minnesota, by way of Dallas and Tallahassee no doubt,” Joyce grumbled. Why do I do this job? She thought, turning the radio back on as the first wet flakes of snow hit her windshield.
16
Lance
Lance was feeling restless. He’d finished his work out for that morning and was pacing around his office. He was thinking about the Malone woman.
She was incompetent, and she hadn’t come back to the yurt she’d paid for. None of her things were left there and she didn’t have a hiking permit.
She’d have come back to sleep in the yurt if she was still in the valley. Unless she managed to get a room at the Ahwahnee. That was unlikely without a cancelation.
She’d been in the Ranger’s Office even though it was closed due to the search for Patty Waters. I wonder what she knows about Patty, thought Lance. How did she find that necklace?