"Well, are any of the guys that found the kills here? I would still like to take a look at the sites. See if I can spot anything that they might have missed." I said while looking around.
"Sure, Alex is on shift up at Hurricane Ridge. That's who found the latest one. But I should warn you, we've had a rain since the kill so the tracks will be washed out, and any scent trail is probably gone." replied Randy with a wry smile.
"Uh, you know?" I muttered.
"John, we do get television up here. Anything that affects the Forest service gets my attention. Of course I know...I just don't care. Not to do the cliché thing, but some of my best friends are..."
"Yeah, yeah, I know, but would you want your daughter to marry one?" I said with a caustic tone.
"I don't have any issues with it. My uncle is one."
"Oh. Can I have some salt? It might improve the taste of my foot."
"John, it's OK. Uncle Duane was infected in the bad old days. I know the sort of prejudice you've dealt with. Listen, here's the frequency list for our area, Alex is on our channel five. Give a shout on the way up." As he spoke, he pulled out a sheet of laminated paper, and held out his hand for my radio. I handed it to him, and he jacked it into his desktop to program in the local frequencies. These new radios were a far better deal than the old ones; you just hook them to the computer and download the freqs, no messing with putting in new chips or crystals, no muss, no fuss.
After he got done programming my radio, I went back out to the Durango and started driving up to Hurricane Ridge. The road up to the ridge is famous; you've seen it many times even if you don't realize it. It's a favorite road for car commercials, especially roadsters. You know the type of commercial I'm talking about, the ones that start with the disclaimer "professional drivers, closed course, do not attempt this at home." Then they show this guy going Hel-bent for leather down a mountain road with more curves than Angelina Jolie and a thousand foot fall, if you drive off the edge. The drive is beautiful, it just begs for a Spyder or an Audi TT. The weather was nice, light clouds at about three thousand feet, which means you break through them half way up the mountain. From there on up, it's bright blue sky and glints of snow off the mountain tops around you. They had already gotten their first snow up here on the ridge; you could see it in the shady areas, and all the higher areas. It's all pine trees up here. Black tail deer plus the occasional mule deer wander out on to the two lane road as if to ask "Pardon me, but do you have anything for deer?" Of course, that's because they can't smell me while I'm inside the rig. All it would take is one whiff and there would be nothing but deer ass heading for the next county. There's lots of turnoffs, and gates about every mile so that they can close off the areas that they can't plow, or that the boys are conducting avalanche control on. The climb is pretty steep but if the road is clear it's no problem for the average family car, and lots of them come up here. It's the favorite snow playground on this side of the Sound.
I had given a call to the Ranger station and Interpretive Center on the way up, and they said that Alex would meet me at the main parking lot. As I pulled in, this SYT (Sweet Young Thingtm) walked up to the passenger side of the rig. She was almost to the door when I realized that she was in a Ranger uniform under that ski bunny coat.
As she opened the door, I got a better look. Five foot six inches, blond hair done in a ponytail cheerleader style, blue eyes, 'bout a hundred and ten pounds sopping wet with sand in her pockets. I wanted to ask if her mother knew that she had run away and joined the Rangers...I refrained. She hopped into the Durango and smiled at me. "John Fisher, right?" she asked.
I put as little incredulity as I could in the reply. "Alex?" I'm afraid my incredulity filters weren't as good as they should have been.
"You were expecting maybe some big ass mountain-man type? Come on, can't anyone get over my body?"
Well, as I didn't want to risk losing my job for sexual harassment, or just getting kicked in the balls, I resisted the first comment that came to mind...And the second...and the third. I must have paused too long, because she glared at me, then paused a moment. You could see the gears turning in her head. Then she smirked, and said "Go ahead, say it. I left it wide open, didn't I? Oh, never mind. Come on, let's go see the kill." With this she motioned me to turn the rig around and head down the mountain. We drove down to the turnoff for Obstruction Peak, and headed that way. On the way she explained that they never would have found this last kill except that the Rangers were doing a biological survey for some report and were in an area that doesn't get a lot of traffic.
Half way up, the snow became a full time fact of life, not just spots here and there. When we got to Obstruction Peak the road ended. Now I'm not talking about just petering out, the road just flat ended. Two feet further and it's three hundred yards straight down. There was a little line shack there, and there were two snowmobiles inside when Alex opened the doors. She looked at me and raised one eyebrow. "You know how to ride one of these?"
Yeah, I knew how to ride one. Uncle Sam had put me through a lot of different vehicle courses during my time in the Navy, including some stuff you would never have believed. Air boats to bombardiers to yak carts...I could drive it. I think the only reason they stopped at yak carts was no one had come up with a vehicle that started with a Z. What happens when a yak gets a smell of cougar, I leave to your imagination. Let's just say it was a Hel of a ride while it lasted. Sometimes I don't think the high brass had two brain cells to rub together.
I assured Alex that "Yes, I can ride one." and we were off again. Through the trees this time, following the occasional ribbon of surveyors tape. A rather cold hour later, we came upon the kill. We stopped about five hundred yards out, by mutual agreement, and I walked in. They had finally cornered the elk against a stone cliff face that it couldn't climb. I could still see some of the skin that hadn't been picked up when they brought the body out. Alex said that she had come upon the kill by accident. She had been cross-country skiing looking for animal sign, and saw a movement through the forest briefly. When she skied up she saw wolf tracks.
Now wolf was one of the species that they were on the lookout for, as it was a top predator. The number and health of the top predators can tell you a lot about the health of the ecosystem, so she followed the track. I asked her just out of curiosity whether or not she had been worried about being attacked, and she said that the wolves were far more likely to run than to attack. This upped her credit in my mind. She was right, but most people don't know that.
She had followed the wolf for a short way when she found the partially eaten remains of the elk and lots of tracks. She said that she had already been suspicious, because wolves don't leave a sentry when they make a kill, they just eat it. But when she got to the kill, she found big cat tracks, wolf tracks, and a track that she thought might be bear, but it didn't look right. Animals just don't cooperate like that. Well this had been two weeks or so ago, so the tracks were long gone. I hoped that I might find something though, so I started quartering the ground. Soon enough I found a tuft of hair. It wasn't from any animal that I had ever smelled before, but it smelled musky somehow. We would let the lab figure it out. After a thorough search I came up with hair from at least two different wolves, a big cat that was NOT a cougar, (I wasn't sure what it was, but the hackles on my neck rose up) a fox, and this mystery animal; that makes five. Alex had made plaster casts of tracks from at least seven different animals, so there were some missing. Oh well, this would be a good start. Randy was right, the scent trail was long gone.
We headed back to the camp after that; we got in just as the sun was setting, then a long drive back to the district headquarters. On the way, Alex looked at me and asked "So, did you learn to drive a Skidoo in the Park Police?"
I smiled and said "No, in the Navy."
She looked at me. "Yeah, right. Pull the other one, it makes noise." Then she looked again. "You're not joking. What sort of sailor gets taught to drive a snowmobile?"
> "Oh, lots. The guys that winter over at Operation Deep Freeze, the guys that work the Arctic research stations, some of the guys up in Alaska...lots of guys."
"Why don't I believe that any of the categories you just listed fit your case?"
"Because you're a devious, suspicious woman that thinks every man is lying to her?"
"No, that's not it. I am a devious, suspicious woman, but that's not why I think you're not answering my question. I'll tell you what, let's drop this stuff off for the lab and I'll buy you a beer if you'll tell me how you learned to drive a skidoo as well as someone that grew up in the U.P."
Well, I had no idea what the Hel a U.P. is, so I said I would take her up on it, if I could go back to my sailboat and change out of uniform first. When we got to the district office, Randy was still there; he caught me glaring at him on the way in, and grinned.
"Yes, I could have warned you, but what's the fun in that?" he asked with a smile. "Besides, you deserved it with your crack about 'would you want your daughter to marry one?'." Alex looked at both of us about then with a look that promised me I would be explaining what the Hel her boss was talking about. Randy promised to send the hair samples off right away, and we headed out the door.
Chapter Five
Alex followed me back to the marina in her car. I guess she was afraid I would ditch her rather than tell her how I knew how to drive a snowmobile. Not likely...I planned on evading the question if I could; but with free beer on it? Yes, I know, I now had enough money to buy a damn bar, but the habits still remain, the best beer is free beer. And free beer from a good-looking girl, Hel, it doesn't get much better than that. Yes, I have a girlfriend; I didn't say I planned to try and get Alex in the sack, just go out for a beer or three.
When we got to the marina I parked as close to the slip the Tanngnost was at as I could and headed for the gate. Alex was right behind me, and followed me down the pier. Over at the small pier that the Navy rents, they were preparing to pull the forty-four footer they have moored there, out to sea. Some Trident sub must be doing a personnel transfer. I hope that everyone is OK, I still know some of the guys on the boats, and it's a small community. As we got down towards the head of the pier and there were no more sailboats between us and the Tanngnost I heard Alex gasp.
"That's not a sailboat; it's a luxury liner with sails. Put guns on it and you have a freaking battleship."
"Well, it's not quite that bad." I said with a grin.
Alex glared at me and snapped "OK, with this sort of money, what the Hell are you doing wearing a Park Police uniform?"
By the time she got that out, we were at the brow. I stepped aboard, and walked over to the main cabin. "I'll explain it over that beer. Is there a semi-quiet place around that isn't trying desperately to be trendy or attract the 'young crowd'? I'm not up to partying tonight." I hadn't realized it until I started walking down the pier, but I was sort of pooped. It had been a long day, and I was far more tired than I really should have been. I guess I'm still not fully healed up.
Alex followed me in to the main salon and I motioned for her to have a seat while I ducked into the master cabin and changed into jeans. As I was changing she mentioned "Well, there's a VFW in downtown Sequim, if you're a member, or a member of the Legion. If not, I can sign you in. They make a pretty good steak, and it's usually quiet."
I about choked on my tongue, that little rah-rah looking chick out in the main salon is a member of the VFW? Shit, and I was going to ask her where her pom-poms were. OK, I had to ask "So, where did you serve?"
"I'll tell you over beer and steak, Squid." she chuckled. Damn, hoist on my own petard. Fine, this was going to be a fun night. When I got out of the aft cabin, she was in a tank top and green trousers that if you looked real close were forest service uniform. But the effect wasn't "uniform", so she would pass as not coming straight from work. I had put on jeans, a turtleneck and a flannel shirt, which was practically a uniform for us up here in the upper left hand corner of the nation. Worn by everyone from Microsoft execs to lumberjacks, it wouldn't get a second look anywhere. Of course, no one was going to be looking at me anyway with Alex around.
We drove to the VFW in her car; it was easier than dealing with my Durango with the light bars and shit. When we got there, she got out her card and signed in, and I did the same. Then we found a table in the corner and looked at the menu. They had Mack and Jack on tap so I ordered one, Alex ordered a wine cooler. When I smirked she looked at me and said "Yes it's a fairy drink, so what?"
"Well, that depends on what type of Fairy we're talking about, I guess." I replied with a grin. "The few high court elves I've met wouldn't be caught dead drinking anything but high end wine or single malt scotch."
"OK, you have the advantage over me, the only fairies I've met hang out on Queen Anne Hill, and go to Cuffs or the Wild Rose."
We each ordered a sirloin, she wanted hers medium...I, of course, wanted mine as rare as the health department would allow. When the waitress left with our orders, Alex looked at me and said "OK, I give. What's a guy that owns a yacht the size of that thing I just saw, doing getting flat feet for a living?"
So, I explained that the boat and some other things had been my great uncle's, and that he had died recently so I had inherited them. I didn't tell her how much I had inherited, that was just too unbelievable for me, much less someone else. But the point of the story was that I really loved my job, and that having the boat and stuff wasn't going to make me quit doing what I enjoyed. Somewhere during my story the steaks came, and a second round. Alex was right, they make a decent steak, with blue cheese over the top yet. (If you haven't tried it that way, you owe it to yourself to do so.)
When I finished my story, she asked "OK, so how did you learn to drive a Skidoo in the Navy?"
"Oh no you don't." I replied. "Your turn. What the Hel is a You Pee, and how is it that someone I would normally card for ID is a card-carrying member of the VFW?"
Well, over the next beer or two, I learned that it's U period, P period, which stands for Upper Peninsula meaning the upper peninsula of Michigan, an area that has nine months of winter and three months of poor sledding. I also learned that Alex had put herself through college by Air Force ROTC, where she had gotten a degree in Civil Engineering. After college she had put in her time in the Red Horse battalions, the Air Force version of the Navy Sea Bees. They were the guys that built forward airfields, and then defended them against all comers. She had done one tour in Iraq and two in Afghanistan. All of this made her at least twenty-five or twenty-six, when I would have put her as maybe a hard living 19. Well shit, and I thought I was a good judge of age.
She was just about to get back to asking how I had learned to drive snowmobiles when this old drunk dude stood up and walked over. He was about six foot, gray-haired, and in jeans and an old field jacket with the patches removed. By this time there weren't more than a dozen guys in the place, and I think I was the only one that wasn't a regular. I suspected that I was about to hear about that. I wasn't wrong, unfortunately.
"Alex, why in the Hel did you sign some city boy in here? This place is for us backwoods types and for real vets. We only let you in because we have to." He pulled something out of his jacket and slammed it on the table saying "You know what a challenge coin is, city boy?"
I looked down at what he slapped onto the table. It was a bronze coin about the size of a silver dollar. The face that was up had an Asian looking skull in a beret with crossed M-16s below it, an RVN flag for a background and a banner that read MAC-SOG V. I knew of the unit. They were some of the first guys in country back in 'Nam. Before my time, way before. The abbreviation stood for Military Assistance Command, Special Operations Group. They were the origin of what became the greenie beanies among other things. So even if he was an office poge he had probably been in action. Challenge coins were coins given out by various units. If you popped one out on the bar, the guy who didn't have one had to buy a round for the bar, if everyone had o
ne then it comes down to the rank of the presenter, or the story that goes with it. No matter what, once a coin comes out, someone's buying a round for the house (which is why you don't pop one all the time; you just might be the low man). It was a bragging rights thing. I really didn't want to do this, but I wasn't going to lose face either. It's a weakness I know, but I've come to accept it.
I dug into my pocket, and pulled out a coin by feel. I tossed it to him saying "Here, catch, old timer. Next time, do your intel."
He caught it, which was rather surprising considering his state of inebriation. He looked down, and I could see his eyes focus on the coin. I caught a sudden smell of not quite fear, but a damn close cousin. Then he looked up at me. "I'm not even going to ask if this is really yours, I just want to apologize for any offence I might have given. I guess the drinks are on me."
Now I was good with that, and would have taken my coin back, but Alex saw her opening. "Oh no, I don't have my coin with me, the drinks are on me. But I get to see what I'm paying for." She held out her hand for the coin. I had sort of wanted to avoid this, but it was done now. The old guy dropped it in her hand. I knew, what she was going to see, I just didn't know if she would know what it meant. The face of the coin had a seal standing on its hind flippers. It had a wolf's head, and was wearing a cloak, holding one side of it up like Bela Lugosi; the other hand had a dagger in it hidden behind the cloak. Underneath was the legend "XII The President's Own." She turned it over and looked at the back. It had a seal and a frog climbing out of the surf, and engraved on it was STSCS (SS)(SEAL) John Fisher. Bull-Frog Seventh Platoon, Team Twelve.
Keeping The Faith (John Fisher Chronicles Book 2) Page 5