by Bobby Akart
“Jake, I’m stronger than I look. Load me up, okay. We can always dump things if we have to.”
Jake thought for a moment, and Ashby’s suggestion was part of the reason he carried two backpacks and the extensive medical kit when he went hunting or camping. When you were on the road or in the wilderness, you never knew what situations you might face. If the gear was in his truck, he could always pick and choose what he needed for a hike back into the woods or a long walk home, for whatever reason. It was better to bring too much and have options than it was to leave things behind and have none.
They got their gear squared away, and Ashby walked around the chamber, getting used to the load she was going to carry. It was agreed Jake would take the front of the stretcher and she would take the rear. This would enable him to look ahead as they navigated the treacherous terrain and give Ashby advance warning when she needed to pay particular attention to her footing.
As they walked, they made small talk although it was difficult to hear one another at times. They continued to wear their particulate masks, and they added sunglasses to protect their eyes from the winds, which blew the fine ash particles around them.
Periodically, Jake would stop and check their position on the Garmin while Ashby rested. He could tell when she was tiring because her feet would drag somewhat, causing loose rocks to kick toward him. She was a real trooper, but after several hours of traversing the ridge, she was already showing signs of fatigue.
Jake thought it was time to stop for a while and share their progress with her. Hopefully, the respite would provide her a second wind.
They settled on an area at the base of a canyon wall where a small stream was running through the rocks.
Jake studied the Garmin and showed it to Ashby. “See the blue lines working their way through the ridges?”
“Yes. Are they rivers?”
“Not necessarily. Perennial streams is the technical term, but most hikers and surveyors call them blue line streams. Obviously, a perennial stream flows year-round. This stream just below us must be melted snow or rain runoff because it doesn’t show up on the topography map.”
“Should we follow it down the mountain?”
“That’s logical, but it might not necessarily take us east toward Challis,” replied Jake. “If we were lost without a GPS device, then the answer is yes. We’ll follow it for now as long as it’s headed east. But there’s one more thing I wanna show you. Well, two, actually.”
“Great, my sore back could use good news.”
“We’ve already dropped fifteen hundred feet in elevation. It’s been a steady drop, which is perfect considering what we’re hauling.”
“Love it. What else?” Ashby’s voice indicated Jake’s approach to bring her back to life was working.
“There appears to be a county road about ten to twelve miles from here,” he responded as he made a couple of adjustments on the Garmin to show her. “It’s probably gravel, which is fine because it beats the heck out of what we’ve had so far.”
“That’s fantastic, Jake! Hey, what’s this symbol mean?” Ashby pointed to a green icon shaped like a tent.
“There’s a campground at the end of the road near Challis Creek Lakes.”
“Let’s go for it. I haven’t been paying attention, but what time does it get dark?”
Jake thought for a moment because he hadn’t made a habit of checking his watch. Idaho was in the mountain time zone, as was Yellowstone. Sundown was probably a little later than what he was accustomed to in mid-June. “Just after nine, but down in the valleys we’ll lose daylight quickly. Plus, the ash doesn’t help.”
“Well, let’s get to steppin’, as they say,” said Ashby with a chuckle.
Chapter 25
Salmon-Challis National Forest
Central Idaho
As darkness set in, the temperature began to drop, making it feel more like October than mid-June. Jake had underestimated the final couple of miles to the three Challis Creek Lakes. The creek they’d been following turned back toward the west, and a sizable ridge stood between them and the lakes. A deer trail helped, but the terrain was steep at times and very rocky.
And the ash was thicker. It didn’t have the appearance of the grayish, dry flakes they’d experienced at the top peak of Sheep Mountain. No, this was wetter, like the soak-you-to-the-bone, stick-to-everything snow of winter, only the ash was dirty and heavy.
Jake pulled out some rain gear, which was made of nylon. The flakes tended to slide off the surface as opposed to their cotton-polyester blend clothing, which provided a porous surface for the ash to grip.
After a one-mile climb up a five-hundred-foot-tall ridge, they topped the summit and reached a slight clearing, where they could see their destination for the night—Challis Creek Lakes. Looking down upon the three lakes, with the ground covered in whitish ash, Jake and Ashby commented it looked like winter.
The wind had calmed as evening wore on, and this enabled them to take in their eerie surroundings. There were no signs of life. Unlike their encounters at the peak, the farther they descended into the valleys and lower elevations, the less wildlife they saw or heard.
Reinvigorated by the prospect of stopping for the night, the two quickly made their way down the gentle sloping ridge to the water’s edge. Their footing was hazardous, mostly from slippery rocks and gooey mud mixed with ash that now approached a foot deep.
They made their way to the clearing that surrounded the lake. At first, it was difficult to tell where the rocky banks of the lake stopped and the water began. The ash had begun to accumulate on the shallowest parts of the water. Otherwise, it had hardened in places and sunk into the lake, turning it a murky gray color.
Jake suddenly stopped, causing Ashby to ram her hips into the stretcher. The chain reaction forced the stretcher into the back of Jake’s legs, causing him to stumble.
“Let’s set it down,” he instructed. “There’s a campsite on the other side of the lake.”
They set Dusty on a flat part of ground after making sure there were no jagged rocks beneath the foot-deep layer of ash. Jake pulled his rifle off his shoulder and looked at the campsite through the gun’s optics. Ashby joined his side as he described aloud what he saw.
“Looks like a hexagonal tent. Probably sleeps six. I see folding camp chairs scattered about and a firepit set up. No lights, fire, or signs of movement.”
He lowered his rifle and turned to Ashby. “I want you to wait here. Stay low and pull your handgun. Remember what I showed you yesterday—firm grip, point, shoot, and then move for cover. Okay?”
“Got it. Please be careful.” Ashby stood on her toes, slid her mask to the side, and gave Jake a kiss on the cheek after gently wiping the ash off his face.
“I won’t be long,” he said as he gripped her hand.
He turned and began moving quickly along the edge of the forest, using the trees for cover from time to time. From a distance, the campsite seemed abandoned, but they’d been through too much to startle a frightened camper and get shot in the process.
Jake gave the tent plenty of space as he walked through the forest, focusing on the entrance and his surroundings for any sudden movement. He’d never hunted with his M16, but the concept was the same. Stay concealed, move slowly, and always keep your head on a swivel as you look for your target.
After making a pass to the other side of the campsite, he returned to the back of the tent. Dropping to a knee, he set his rifle aside and decided on a couple of methods of ferreting out any occupants of the tent.
First, he made the sound of an owl. He brought both of his hands in front of his face and placed his palms together while wrapping his fingers around each other. He lined up his thumbs, creating a small gap. After pushing his mask aside, he pressed his lips against his knuckles and blew. A drawn-out hoot sound emanated from his throat and hands.
He continued the process, at times flapping his fingers on his right hand to vary the pitch and intensit
y. When there was no sign of activity, he grabbed some stones and moved to the side of the tent where he could see the entrance. He peppered the tent with the tiny rocks and trained his rifle on the entrance.
Nothing.
Jake was confident the tent was abandoned, but he decided to charge in the entrance with his rifle leading the way. He screamed as he entered, hoping to shock any deep sleepers into a state of fear rather than a fatal reaction with a rifle of their own.
The tent was empty, and Jake let out a sigh of relief. It was too early in the apocalypse for a gunfight, although he knew that time would come. He glanced around at the sleeping bags and a variety of camping gear left behind. This was a gift from heaven.
He jogged in the open along the lake’s edge until he reached Ashby and Dusty. He shouted when he was twenty yards away, “They have a vacancy!”
Ashby met him in the clearing, hollering back to a still-unconscious Dusty, who was nestled under a few trees, “Works for us, right, Dusty?”
Jake and Ashby hustled into the tent as the night came upon them. After they’d settled in, changed Dusty’s dressings, and performed their customary check of his vitals, they were finally able to relax.
Jake studied the Garmin for several minutes while he and Ashby huddled in a two-person sleeping bag. The campers had left a small Coleman lantern, which was half full of kerosene. There was also an unopened gallon jug of water, perhaps the best find of all.
Jake fell back onto the floor of the tent and smiled. He handed Ashby the Garmin, and she studied the display.
“What am I looking at here?” she asked.
“Luck, good fortune, gift from God—the choice is yours.”
“Is that a road?”
Jake laughed as he answered, “It sure is, and the sucker’s almost directly behind us about a thousand yards or so. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not a straight shot into Challis, but it’s not like the first leg of this trip by any stretch of the imagination. We’ll be walking on a road all the way into town. It appears to be ten miles, as the crow flies, and probably twelve or thirteen by road, but well worth the extra distance.”
Ashby set the Garmin aside and snuggled closer to Jake. “Things are lookin’ up,” she said as they quickly drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 26
Challis Creek Lakes
Salmon-Challis National Forest
Central Idaho
Jake woke up before Ashby and carefully slipped out of the sleeping bag and put on his shoes. As he stepped outside, the first thing he noticed was the amount of ash that had accumulated overnight. At least four more inches had fallen, all but covering the folding camp chairs, which he’d cleaned off before turning in.
Jake had to pee and looked for a spot different from the one they’d used the night before. The scent of human urine acted as a decent deterrent to wilderness critters, large and small, from coming around a campsite.
As he finished up the mundane task, he heard a rustling in the woods behind him. Jake instinctively reached for his sidearm and remembered it was still in the tent. He reminded himself that he had to make it a habit to carry his weapon.
As the swishing sound continued, he could also make out a muffled sneeze. He began to wonder if someone was sneaking up on them from the woods.
“Jake? Are you out there?”
He moved toward the back of the tent and crouched down. “Stay inside the tent. I need you to slice open the back with my knife and hand me your shotgun.”
“Okay,” she quickly replied without asking for an explanation. After a conversation the two had had while hiking down the mountain, she’d learned to trust Jake’s advice and directives when it came to survival.
A moment later, he heard the side of the tent rip open, and the butt end of the shotgun appeared through the hole. Then he heard a deep, guttural growl. The heavy footsteps were unmistakable to Jake.
Its appearance out of the shaded darkness of the tree canopy confirmed his suspicions. It was a bear. Jake stood up and widened his body by spreading his broad shoulders and assuming a wide stance. Before he took steps to force the bear out of their campsite, he had to determine if it was a black bear or a grizzly, as the two behave very differently. He didn’t want to shoot it, but rather, move it out of their area. Fortunately, there was no smell of food, as the wrappers for the MRE bars they’d eaten were stuffed into their backpacks for that very reason.
As the bear came into the muted daylight, he studied its face and mannerisms. A black bear had a straight face with taller ears. A grizzly’s face was dish shaped, with short, rounded ears. The colorization of the two bears was obvious, but not always, as their fur could take on different hues.
Identifying the type of bear was important because of the way they react to human contact. Even the most stubborn black bear could be pushed out of a campsite by standing big, as Jake was doing, coupled with looking at the bear directly in the eyes and shouting at it.
Grizzlies, on the other hand, might consider this approach to be threatening. It was never advised to move a grizzly out of a campsite. They were more likely to act aggressively to defend themselves against a perceived threat.
Jake had to make a decision. The closer the bear approached to his position, the more likely it was to act defensively. Jake pulled the slide of the shotgun and racked a round into the chamber. The loud, distinctive double-click would normally put the fear of god into an assailant, but it simply made the bear more curious.
It approached Jake and popped its jaws, a signal that it was annoyed. It began to swat at the ash with its front paw as it started to blow and snort.
Not good.
It stepped closer and lunged slightly, making a bluff charge toward Jake to get him to leave. That was when Jake got a good look at the bear’s pointed snout and the brown ring around its nose.
“That’s it, bear! Go! Get out of here, bear!”
The bear dropped back on its haunches and gave Jake a puzzled look. It slowly rose on all four legs and nonchalantly turned around. The massive creature lumbered back into the woods and disappeared from sight.
Jake breathed for the first time and wiped the sweat off his face with the palm of his hand. Then he let out some nervous laughter. He was glad he’d already peed.
He returned to the tent and was met with a strong hug from Ashby. She helped wipe off his sweat and to pull his shirt over his head. She then put his mask on his face.
“You have to remember your mask, Jake. It only takes a minute of breathing this stuff to damage your respiratory system.”
He nodded and accepted the admonishment. There were a lot of things they’d have to do as part of their daily routine, including carrying a firearm everywhere they went, even the bathroom.
“If it’s any consolation, I didn’t breathe much out there.”
She patted his chest and reached for the wet wipes Jake carried in his backpack. “Would you be a gentleman and escort a lady to the potty? I don’t feel like squatting in front of any bears.”
“With pleasure, ma’am.”
That earned him a slug. “You didn’t have to say it like that!”
“Like what?”
“Deviant-like.”
Jake protested and then he got it. “Deviant, um, what? I did not!”
“Come on, Jake, but turn your head.”
“Maybe,” he grumbled as he followed her outside.
While she conducted her business, he scanned the forest and looked skyward. The ash fallout had thinned, and he hoped for a decent day as they made their way to Challis. If they walked a mile an hour, he calculated, they’d easily make it by late afternoon.
After returning inside the tent, they checked on Dusty and reloaded their packs. Jake tied the Coleman lantern to the side of the stretcher with some nylon rope he found in the tent. He also replaced Dusty’s mylar blanket with a sleeping bag to protect him from the ash and to keep his body warm. The mylar had served its purpose, and after three days of use, it was
starting to tear in places.
Rested and anxious to get out of the wilderness, a word that starts with wild, Jake and Ashby trekked down the trail toward the gravel road that ran parallel to Challis Creek. Their destination was less than ten miles away.
Chapter 27
Salmon-Challis National Forest
Central Idaho
“Ashby, there’s a car ahead,” Jake said as he pointed to a bend in the road about a quarter mile ahead. They both stopped and looked for a place to set Dusty down that was out of sight of the vehicle. “Let me check it out before we approach. I’m afraid we can’t take anything for granted now.”
Ashby readied her shotgun while Jake jogged down the side of the gravel road closest to the tree line. His feet kicked up ash as he went, but Jake was relieved to see there weren’t any more footprints or tracks.
As he drew closer, he readied his rifle and walked slowly toward the rear of the vehicle. It appeared to be an older model Subaru Outback, maybe a 2003 or 2004 model. Jake had grown accustomed to seeing Subarus in Northern California. People who frequently enjoyed outdoor activities needed something to haul their gear in that was, especially in California, environmentally friendly and economical. Personally, Jake couldn’t stand them because he’d always been a rugged-SUV kind of guy.
After observing his surroundings for a few minutes, he approached the Subaru and looked inside the windows. Other than some pillows and blankets, it was empty. Then he noticed the keys in the ignition, which immediately gave him cause for concern. He walked around the station wagon again, studying the woods as well as the road that continued down the mountain.
He tried the door and it opened. Jake shrugged, slid in behind the steering wheel, and tried to turn it over. The battery was hot, and the ignition tried to fire, but it kept grinding without starting.
Disappointed, Jake took another look around the car for anything of value, and then he left. After trotting back up the hill, he stopped to catch his breath and explained to Ashby what he’d found.