by Nancy Cupp
He mulled things over in his mind, and then called the Ahwahnee to find out if she had checked in.
“Hello, this is Lance Larson from over at Camp Curry. I was wondering if you could tell me if a woman named Margret Malone has checked in. Yes—I’ll hold.”
Lance waited a few minutes while the clerk checked the records. “Thank You—no that’s all I needed.”
She hadn’t checked in there, so there were only two possibilities. She’d left the park, or she’d gone hiking.
Lance went to his desk, stepping around scattered barbells and weight machines. From the center drawer he retrieved a Greyhound Bus schedule and read down the list. The last departure had been Tuesday morning, she’d been seen since then, so she was still here. The next one scheduled wasn’t until Friday afternoon.
She had to take the bus because she didn’t have a car, she wouldn’t be riding the shuttle if she did. Even if she was traveling by train, she’d need to take the Greyhound to the station.
Lance gathered the things he needed and then stepped out, closing and locking his office door. He rode the shuttle to the far upper end of the valley where he started up a familiar trail.
The trail he chose wasn’t the popular Mist Trail, the one Margret was likely to have taken. He knew a faster and much dryer route. Few tourists went that way because there weren’t many good vantage points from which to take pictures. The trail was fast and well maintained because it was primarily used by Park Service workers to quickly get into the back country.
It would intersect the Mist trail at the top of the falls where his search would begin. If Margret was below the falls she’d be able to get back to the valley by following the throngs of tourists that flocked to that trail.
Lance correctly guessed that Margret would have made a wrong turn at the fork where the trail split to the left for Half Dome. If she’d gone that way and was camping, the rangers would’ve sent her back down to the valley because she didn’t have a permit.
☙
Lance had learned tracking and survival in the military. His excellent skill earned him special awards in war time service. He’d seen action and casualties too.
He maintained his excellent record through out his service, always doing more than was asked of him. He was on his last tour of duty, looking forward to a nice civilian life, when his unit got ambushed.
He wasn’t in the transport truck when it ran over the IED. Two guys were blown to bits, and a third died while he was trying to stop the bleeding from a severed leg.
His friend, Steve, had multiple injuries, but he was alive when Lance put him over his shoulder and carried him back to safety. Steve died from his injuries two days later, never regaining consciousness.
There were questions, and although Lance answered honestly, there was no-one left to back him up. He was walking out in front of the truck. His job was looking for signs of disturbed soil or wires, anything that would alert them to the danger. He didn’t see it.
When he returned to the States and civilian life, Lance had difficulty holding a job. He’d start off great, but then stress or conflict with co-workers would cause him to fly off into a rage, and he’d get fired.
His placement at Camp Curry had been a last ditch effort by his military counselors to get him employed. The low stress job and beautiful park environment helped him to cope. Bodybuilding was a distraction to channel his energy.
☙
It wasn’t long before Lance picked up a rambling trail. There was a good possibility it was Margret’s. Close inspection of a tiny bit of fabric he found on a rocky patch of ground confirmed he was on her trail. The color matched the color of the pants he’d seen Margret wearing the day before.
When he found the site where a camp had been set up, Lance was puzzled. There’d been two people there. Who did she meet? It was a seldom traveled area, not likely other hikers would pass by. Someone pitched a tent and made a fire, skills he doubted Margret had.
He felt the ashes from the fire. There was still warmth on the ground. A quick survey told him which direction they traveled. Their trail was now straight and purposeful, not rambling like before. If she’d set out for Half Dome, this was the wrong direction, it wouldn’t get her back to the valley either. What was the purpose of this hike?
17
The Cave
Margret was getting tired. She tried as hard as she could to keep up to Joseph, but was no match for his easy stride. It had started to snow and the cold wet flakes stuck to her eyelashes and steamed up her glasses. Her legs were getting heavy from the effort of staying upright in the slippery slush.
Finally she had to stop. “Joseph—Joseph! Please stop for a little while. I can’t go on any more—and I have to pee!”
Reluctantly, Joseph put down the packs. “Alright be quick about it. I’m going to climb up there and take a look around,” he said, indicating a large rocky outcrop.
At the top of his vantage point Joseph scanned the area. His sharp eyes picked up a tiny speck moving in their direction. Someone is tracking us, he thought. No one knows I’m up here. They don’t know what I have. They must be tracking her—but why?
Joseph had started to climb down when he heard a shriek, and then crashing through the trees. Joseph knew what happened even before he heard the low growl. Bear, he thought. He ran though the woods in the direction of the sound, and got there just in time to see Margret stumble and fall out of sight.
The brownish-black bear was standing on her hind legs sniffing the air. Joseph picked up a large stick and held it above his head. He yelled and waved the stick at the bear. She walked a few steps on her hind legs toward Joseph giving a whining growl. Dropping down to all four legs she stiffly walked off to the woods, grunting and wagging her head from side to side, not wanting a confrontation.
When it was safe, Joseph ran over to where he’d seen Margret fall. He didn’t see her, but he heard a far away moan. Carefully walking back and forth, he found where she’d gone.
There was a small opening in the ground, a cave entrance that dropped straight down about fifteen feet. In the dim light, Joseph saw Margret lying on soft ground. He called down to her, “Are you all right?”
“Uuuhhhh…,” she said. “I guess I’m okay. I think I broke my glasses—or bent ‘em. Where the heck am I now?”
“You fell into a cave, hold on—I’ll try to get you out.”
Scrambling back to her pack, he rummaged around to see if she had a rope. All he could find were thin nylon ropes from the tent, and a flashlight.
He brought both packs to the edge of the opening. Tying the ropes together, he looked for a place to anchor them. Then he tossed the flashlight down to Margret so she could see where she was. That might have been a bad idea, he thought, when he heard her reaction.
Margret shined the light around, smelling the dank cave. “Eeeewwww!” she said, “What is this stuff?”
“Probably bat guano.”
“Bat—what?”
“Guano—um, poop,” he could hardly contain his laughter.
“Oh yuck,” she said, almost in tears.
“It’s great fertilizer.”
“I’m not planting a garden down here!”
Joseph found a sturdy sapling near the opening. When he dropped the end of the rope down to her, it dangled high above her head. He knew she wouldn’t be strong enough to hold on to the rope while he pulled her up anyway.
Joseph scanned the area looking for an idea, anything, that would help. A tree branch maybe? Snow was starting to pile up and soon it would be hard to find anything.
He heard the faint, muffled sound of someone walking in the snow. He didn’t think it was the bear returning, it was too regular, and there was no snuffling, the way a bear sounds. It must be whoever was tracking us, he reasoned. He wasn’t sure if he should yell for help or remain quiet. Joseph shoved his basket into the cave opening. He knew it would be safe there until he could get Margret out.
“Hey what are y
ou doing? I want to get out, not have stuff thrown in!”
“Shhhh,” Joseph said, to quiet her. Moments later, a bullish man appeared out of the swirling flakes of snow. He’d been hard to see. His coat and hat were plastered with wet snow so he blended with the snow-covered ground. He had a small back-pack. Joseph hoped there was a rope in it.
“Hello,” said Joseph.
“Where’s the woman?”
“Why are you following us?”
“Lance is that you?” called Margret from the cave.
Lance looked at Joseph, “Why is she down there?”
“Bear.”
Lance broke into a grin, “That figures.” The men talked about options for getting her out.
Feeling left out, Margret yelled, “Hey what are you guys doing? Is anybody going to get me out of here?”
The men laughed. Joseph told her they were working out a plan. Lance got a short piece of rope from his pack and added it to what was tied to the tree. Since Joseph was the lighter of the two, Lance lowered him into the cave to help Margret. Hopefully, he’d have no problem pulling them out—if the rope was strong enough.
Margret’s large pack was laying near the base of the tree where the rope was tied. Lance slipped off his own pack and knelt beside it. Working fast, he made his adjustments, then turned when he heard a grunt. A particular odor registered on his mind. The bear was back.
The wind swirled, and snow was coming down hard. From inside the cave, Margret and Joseph could hear it howling, but there was something else. Showers of snow sifted into the cave. Margret’s pack come crashing down, almost hitting Joseph. They heard a muted yell and a struggle.
Margret looked at Joseph, “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know, he a friend of yours?”
“No—well, sort of,” said Margret. She looked up, and yelled, “Lance, you okay?”
They heard no reply. With a puff of snow, and a thud, Lance fell into the heap of guano. A little disheveled, he brushed himself off.
Margret asked, “What happened?”
“Bear.”
“Oh great,” said Joseph, looking at the dangling rope. “Now what are we going to do?”
Lance sat down on his pack, “Well, at least we’re out of the snow and wind. But I don’t think there’s any way we can climb that skinny rope—if it would even hold us.”
Joseph tried the rope, but was unable to get a good enough grip to pull himself up. There were no walls close enough for him to brace his feet and he slid back down. “Why did you come down here too?”
“There was a bear! I shoved her pack in here so it wouldn’t be attracted to the food. What—you want me to fight a bear?”
Margret shifted, uncomfortable with the arguing, “Let’s have something to eat. I’ve got trail mix and M&Ms.”
Both men groaned. “What have you got?” Joseph asked, eyeing Lance’s small pack. “My name is Joseph Parks by the way.” He extended his hand in Lance’s direction.
Lance ignored the outstretched hand, “Well Joe, I’ve got enough jerky for me.”
“It’s Joseph,—I’ve got a little jerky and one power bar. If we share everything, we’ll all get some. My canteen is half-full, so there’s not much water.”
Margret chimed in, “With my candy we’ll be okay, but I don’t have water.”
“Muscles need protein and water. You can’t live on sugar,” said Lance.
“We need to share the water,” said Joseph.
“Okay Joe, hand me your canteen,” snarled Lance. He took it and gulped down half.
“Hey! Save some for us,” cried Margret.
Joseph took the canteen and handed it to Margret. “Drink what you need. I’m fine for now.” He sat quietly for a moment. “Why were you following us, Lance?”
“I was looking for her.”
“Why?”
“Because she left and doesn’t know what she’s doing,” said Lance. “You’re one of them Ahawaneeche Indians ain’t ya, Joe.”
“I’m a member of the Ahawahneeche branch of the Miwok Nation,” Joseph said, proud of his heritage.
Margret looked at him, “Cool! They said Indians used the rock I found for grinding acorns. What did they grind acorns for?”
“The acorns of the Black Oak trees kept my ancestors alive for four-thousand years,” Joseph told her.
“You eat ‘em? Are they good?” she asked.
Chuckling, Joseph said, “I said they kept us alive. They taste awful—bitter!”
“Indians eat anything, don’t ya, Joe,” Lance sneered.
“Hey quit it Lance. Joseph saved my life,” defended Margret.
Lance gave a snort and chewed on his jerky. “They just sit around weaving baskets.”
“The baskets we make are useful, like the one I use for a back-pack. It’s light-weight and strong. My Grandmother is one of the few who still know how to make them,” said Joseph.
Lance broke in, “Is she that old lady that demos at the cultural center?”
“Yes, that’s her,” Joseph said.
“Huh,” Lance grunted, “ain’t old man Parks uh—Sam, he related to you too?”
“He’s my Grandfather.”
“Wow—I’m so glad I’ve met you. I’m sorry I got us in here though,” said Margret. “How are we going to get out?”
Joseph answered, “We need to sit quietly until we know what to do.”
“Yeah—That’ll work,” scoffed Lance, pulling out his own canteen, drinking. “Ahh, that was good. All gone now,” he said, holding the empty canteen upside down.
Margret exchanged a glance with Joseph. The last of the light, filtering into the cave, was fading. “What is that sound?”
Joseph said, “Where do you think all this guano came from?”
“I don’t know,” said Margret.
Lance shined the flashlight at the ceiling, it seemed to be moving. “Bats,” he said.
Margret shrieked, causing a rippling disturbance among the creatures.
“They’re likely to be hibernating now, not too many bugs in this snowstorm,” informed Joseph. “They usually fly at dusk, but they’ll just sleep, since they can’t go out to feed.” Joseph sat, thinking, for a few minutes. “Unless we disturb them.”
“Eeewwww!” Margret whispered, “Why would we want to wake them up? What other creepy crawlers are in here?”
“You shouldn’t fall into a cave if you don’t like bats,” said Joseph.
Lance snapped, “It seemed like a good idea when there was a bear up there.”
“Let me see those books you have,” said Joseph.
“It’s getting too dark to read now,” said Margret, handing him a book.
“I’m not going to read it.” Joseph took out a lighter, and held it to one corner of a page.
“You can’t burn my books,” cried Margret, “that one’s a classic!”
A small flame shot up as the book caught fire. Smoke curled up toward the ceiling and the bats began to squeak and move. “At least they’ll be useful for something, after carrying all that extra weight,” said Joseph.
“What are you waking them up for? Yuck—Stop!” Margret stifled a scream.
“Good Idea,” said Lance.
“We’ll see where they go, if they don’t go out here,” said Joseph, gesturing with his head toward the hole where they’d dropped in. The bats squeaked and started to fly, dipping and diving, around the craggy recesses of the cave.
Joseph added a second book to the fire. Margret groaned, “That was my guide book.”
Joseph smiled, “This will do you more good than reading it.”
Margret scowled at him. The bats flew back into a dark corner and disappeared.
“Get your stuff—let’s go,” said Joseph, shouldering his back-pack and quickly moving in the direction of the dark corner.
Lance put his own pack on and picked up Margret’s with one hand. He pushed her ahead of him, to follow Joseph, in the narrow flashlight beam. “With
any luck, this end of the cave will allow us to get out.”
The three bumped along following the corridor, ducking low hanging stalactites, and winding around their counterparts rising from the floor. The beam of light fell on a rocky slope, blocking their path. Joseph shined the flash light back and forth. There was nowhere to go.
Bats were squeaking, trying to gain a foothold on a broken stalactite. Margret cringed at the sound, and looked up, “I see the moon!” They all saw the small hole at the top of the slope and started to scramble up over the loose rocks. Soon they became aware of a blast of cold fresh air.
It was a tight squeeze through the opening, Joseph had to take off his pack to shimmy through. Lance was the last one out and handed the back-packs to Joseph ahead of him. Outside, they huddled together in the cold air. The storm had blown itself out and the moon lit the night.
“Well, they don’t tell you that in the book,” said Margret. They all had a good laugh.
Early the next morning Margret climbed out of her tent. Joseph had pitched it for her again as best he could without the ropes they’d left behind in the cave. The packs were hanging high on the branches of trees away from the campsite as a precaution against bears.
Margret had slept well, snug in her expedition quality sleeping bag. The men had made a rough shelter, and slept on a bed of pine boughs to keep them up off the snow.
Stretching, she found them warming by a campfire. Her coffee pot heating on three small rocks with hot coals beneath. “I thought we were out of water,” she said, still groggy.
The sky was bright blue and the air was still. A couple of bright red birds sat in the tree with their feathers fluffed out to keep warm. The smoke from the campfire mixed with the piney scent of the trees. Four inches of new snow was on the ground, and the tree branches were weighted down with it.
“This is snow coffee,” smiled Joseph. “I’m glad you brought it—and books.” They laughed, munching M&Ms and trail mix. “I need to get to my village, I should have been there yesterday,” stated Joseph.
Lance broke in, “Margret goes with you. Your place is closer, and she can get a shuttle back from there.”