by Jim Dutton
“It’s probably the mold in your cups she can’t stand. You don’t know how good you have it.”
“I know Rona, and I am eternally grateful to you and Abbie.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The offshore breeze gently brushed Ana’s bangs from her forehead. Her eyes were half-closed, with a dreamy look. She was breathing slowly and deeply. “I just want to soak it into each one of my cells, the salt air and the beauty, Nick.” Ana’s gaze rested on the ocean and Coronado Islands from the top of Point Loma. She swirled around in the wind to face Nick. His normally furrowed brow seemed to have fewer lines, his eyes seemed softer, and the ends of his mouth were upturned. The San Diego harbor and skyline were spread out behind him.
To Ana’s left was the old Point Loma lighthouse, built in 1855. At 400 feet above sea level, it was the highest lighthouse in elevation in the United States until it was decommissioned in 1891 for the new Point Loma lighthouse, located at a lower elevation, close to the water. The old lighthouse was now a museum at the Cabrillo National Monument, chock full of stories. It was said that on certain nights, the keeper would have to fire off a shotgun to ward off ships because fog and low lying clouds would obstruct a ship’s view of the light.
“Nick, I’m so glad you suggested we hike along the cliffs. This is the first Saturday we’ve had off in months.”
“I love being outside in the fresh air with you. I figured the whole team could use the weekend off. Even Pepe and Jerry are “vacationing” in Montana. Almost all the preparation is done for the grand jury. Time to relax before another stretch of long hours. Enough of that. Check out these binoculars. About half way to the horizon, straight out into the ocean, there are gray whales spouting water. Look, just where I’m pointing. See, there’s a waterspout.”
“No, I don’t see it.”
“Keep looking, every 10 seconds or so there’ll be another spout.”
“Oh, Nick, I see one. I can even see the top gray line of the whale’s back. There it goes again. She’s heading north.”
“Yeah. The whale is part of the gray whale migration back to the northern seas from the birthing bays in Baja California. There’s one near the town of Guerrero Negro, Scammon’s Lagoon, but my favorite in Baja is Bahia Magdalena, southwest of Laredo. It isn’t developed there. A long time back I drove close to 800 miles, rented a ponga, and motored around the bay. I saw so many whales. Some I felt I could reach out and touch. They were 30 feet longer than my 15 foot ponga, but I felt no fear. I wanted to jump in with them. I even had my wet suit and snorkel, but chickened out at the last minute.
“You mean to tell me you were actually going to jump in with those behemoths?”
“I seriously thought about it. It was in my younger days. Being one with nature. Nothing could hurt me. It’s a male adrenalin-adventure gene. Why do you think young males are sky surfing out of planes and doing double flips off of ramps on their motorcycles? Turn on the X games sometime.”
“Well, there’s being stupid and there’s being really stupid. I always had you in the stupid category, but not in the really stupid category.”
“I didn’t jump in. I belong in the plain stupid category. Enough about my lack of mental prowess. I brought some lunch and have a blanket in my knapsack.”
Nick laid out the blanket for them to sit on. The knapsack revealed fresh sourdough bread, two varieties of cheese, grapes and slices of melon. With a flourish, Nick withdrew a thermos, “For you milady, chilled sauvignon blanc and two plastic wine glasses to allow us to properly imbibe.”
As they were finishing the last of the cheese and bread, with the afternoon San Diego sun caressing their faces, Ana had a guilt-ridden thought. “I can’t help thinking about Pepe and Jerry in the wilds of Montana, trying to track down our firefighter witness. All sorts of things could happen to them.”
“Don’t worry about them. Pepe told me late this morning that local law enforcement had found Zack’s van parked where the road to Many Glacier hotel is blocked by snow. There are cross country ski tracks leading from the van along the snow-covered road to the hotel and the campground. They’re probably camping and taking pictures. Pepe told me that they’re going to try to hitch a ride with a search and rescue helicopter to find them. Right now, they’re probably having a great helicopter ride, seeing the sights.”
“Aren’t there grizzly bears and other assorted wild things up there?”
“Maybe a few. Nothing to worry about.”
Mid-afternoon on the same Saturday, Zack and Drury were lying on the snow by their cameras, which were screwed into tripods. They had been taking pictures, trying to capture the essence of Iceberg Lake. Zack was looking at the lake below them and the looming backdrop of the cirque of snow-laden peaks. Drury was snoozing. The lake was covered in large chunks of ice. Between the chunks, the glacier-infused aquamarine water peaked through. It was so clear that the rounded rocks on the bottom of the lake looked wet and open to the sky. Zack, looking more closely, could see the cliffs of the far side of the lake reflected in every detail on the lake’s surface.
Earlier that day, after snowshoeing the five miles from their camp at the end of the road by Swiftcurrent Lake, they had digitally captured a red fox hunting for gophers in the snow. The fox was so intent on catching lunch that he didn’t pay any attention to the two human statues, 50 yards away, behind their cameras on tripods. The photos were incredible—sun glistening off the fire orange-red fur of the fox as he sprung several feet in the air to dive head first into the snow. Another photo showed the fox’s head completely buried in the snow with his body sticking straight up. On the fox’s third try, his head came up from the snow with a gopher in his mouth. The ugly dark grey gopher, with small beady eyes, a rat’s tail, and long curved claws, didn’t move in the fox’s jaws. The grey stood out against the white band of fur along the fox’s muzzle. The fox was completely alert as he trotted off with his prize, his two-foot long tail with a white bob at the end, trailing behind him.
Zack tried to nudge Drury awake. Zack thought, That son of a bitch can sleep anywhere. It must be all those wildfires he has fought, catching a nap in the middle of burning infernos when he could. Enough with politeness. Zack cracked Drury in the ribs, “Time to wake up sleeping beauty, we have to pack up and get down to camp before it gets dark.”
“Let me rest a little longer. It’s just us and this beautiful, untouched spot. This is why we came here, for moments like this.”
“Drury, you’ve had plenty of moments like this, hours like this, days like this. I like the solitude as much as you do, but it’s time to get your ass up and get going. Wait a sec. What in the hell am I hearing? Sounds like a noisy whomp, whomp, whomp.”
“Shut up Zack, let me listen. It sounds like a helicopter coming up the valley towards us.” They waited, listened and scanned the sky. The noise got louder. A helicopter popped over the ridge from Swiftcurrent Lake.
“Drury, what the fuck! What’s the copter doing here? Violating our peace and quiet. We haven’t seen anybody else around. There isn’t anyone to rescue, and nobody to see but us.” The helicopter hovered two hundred feet above them. Two lines were thrown out of the side bay of the copter. “Drury, two men are being lowered down on slings! This is either some hell of a training exercise or Al Queda has got their wires crossed. No terrorist targets down here unless they’re after moose, bear, or bighorn sheep.”
“I got my binocs on them. Not holding any weapons. Do have packs. We better go greet our new friends. Who knows, maybe it’s a couple of my firefighting buddies dropping in to say hello.”
Earlier that day, Pepe and Jerry had driven hell-bent, in their rented Range Rover, towards Glacier National Park from Great Falls, Montana. The Sheriff’s Office closest to the Many Glacier entrance to the park had reported that Zack’s van was located within the park, three miles from the Many Glacier hotel where the snow had blocked the r
oad. Glacier National Park wouldn’t even open until late May and the famous old railroad hotel wouldn’t open until early June. The 200 room, wooden masterpiece, overlooking Swiftcurrent Lake and the glacier carved mountains around it, had been built in 1920 as an enticement for tourists to take the transcontinental Canadian railroad to an exotic location.
Hotel guests would leisurely sip cocktails on the balcony overlooking the lake, watching grizzly bears feeding on grubs on the mountainsides. In the morning, guests would often be treated to a moose swimming across the lake. A jagged peak towered over the lake, directly across from the hotel. The lake continued in two directions beyond either side of the peak, to the left along a submerged glacial valley that led to Josephine Lake and a hike to Grinnell Glacier, and past the peak to the right, which led to the end of the road and the campground below more majestic peaks. From the campground, various trails led to the high country, one being the 1100-foot vertical ascent over five miles to Iceberg Lake.
Pepe was bitching as usual on the ride. “I saw those so-called “Great Falls” as we flew in. Nothing great about them. A couple of falls in a row, 15 or 20 feet high.”
“You’d think it was a big thing if you were part of the Lewis and Clark expedition coming up the Missouri River and had to carry your boats and supplies around the falls.”
“Okay gringo. When the Lewis and Clark expedition happened, California, Arizona, and Texas were still part of Mexico. We California Mexicans were worried about Mexican history back then.”
Jerry and Pepe pulled into Browning on Highway 89. Browning was part of the Blackfoot Reservation, about 40 miles from the Many Glacier entrance. The Sheriff’s Office had a substation there. “Just in time for our meeting with Lieutenant Keme Mingan,” said Jerry.
Jerry and Pepe were impressed by the Lieutenant. He was a Blackfoot and a Persian War vet. Keme meant thunder. He looked like thunder, tall and stern with a low, gravelly voice. Keme listened to their story. “This is the best I can do for you. I can justify the use of a search and rescue helicopter for one trip only. A short trip at that. We can fly you around the Many Glacier area and see if we can spot them. You can either come back and try to meet them by foot or we can rappel you down to meet them. We can lend you back country supplies—a pack, snow shoes, satellite radio, sleeping bag, heavy jacket, and some food.”
Pepe’s eyes went wide and he blanched, “What do you mean rappel down from a helicopter?”
“Well, maybe, I overstated it. We winch you down in a sling. It’s perfectly safe unless high winds kick up. Once you meet with your guys, you snowshoe out. You’ll have maps and a GPS. Probably those two guys you’re looking for will come out with you. Montanans do not leave tenderfeet alone in the mountains unless the tenderfeet are obnoxious. If something really goes wrong, you have your satellite phone and we can rescue you for real and charge it to your department. This quick flight is a professional courtesy.”
“Hey Lieutenant, you’re getting compensated. I told you I’d share that fine bottle of tequila I brought along.”
“Ugh Pepe. Firewater not good for Indians. But it’d be shameful not to accept your hospitality.”
A belly laugh came out of Pepe. “Here I thought you were the inscrutable Indian type. You’re my type of guy. Maybe us Mexicans and Indians should get together and kick the gringos out.”
Keme replied, “Too late for that, I already have my Lexus and an iPhone. We’ll get your stuff together. You drive to where Zack’s van is and the helicopter will pick you up there in an hour. There’s a large turnout that the snowplows have carved out.”
Pepe and Jerry drove north along Highway 89, which paralleled the park. They could see the peaks to their left and the windblown trees on the side of the mountains. They passed along lower Saint Mary Lake, slender, long and blue, before arriving at Babb, population unknown, with a restaurant, a store, a church, and a gas station. Fortunately, Babb lacked the accouterments of most entry towns outside of National Parks—no strip of cheap motels, nor any, even cheaper souvenir shops, and no fast food restaurants. They turned left onto the road to the Many Glacier entrance, drove along Swiftcurrent Creek and most of Lake Shelbourne until they reached Zack’s van at the end of the snow blocked road. They didn’t pay sufficient attention to their beautiful environs—a crystal blue lake to their left, snowcapped peaks beyond the lake, and craggy peaks in front of them. Thousands of years ago, glacier movement had carved out the valleys extending into the mountains. In the upper glacial lakes, the glaciers had left a residue in the water, which when struck by the sun, reflects an impossibly beautiful, aquamarine color.
Pepe didn’t have the peace of mind to ponder nature’s beauty. He was wondering what the hell he was getting himself into. He had never been in a helicopter, much less being lowered down into a white abyss from one. With Jerry’s special forces background, he was much more comfortable with the idea. Pepe didn’t want to do it, but Jerry urged him on. Every part of his body was telling him no, but he wasn’t raised to back down. Loss of face was not an option. Pepe finally told Jerry as they waited for the helicopter, “If Keme says it’s safe to lower us down when we find them, then I’m in.”
Right on time, a few minutes later, the helicopter landed at the cleared turn around. Jerry and Pepe crouched down behind their Rover to protect themselves against the gusts of wind piercing out from the rotor as the copter landed. Keme jumped out of the helicopter bay with two packs in his hands. He showed them each pack’s sleeping bag, food packets, space blanket, snow shoes and other essential items.
Pepe and Jerry strapped into two pull down seats in the small cargo bay while Keme sat next to the pilot. Keme handed Jerry a satellite phone and passed out earplugs. They were up in the air before Pepe could get used to the idea. The copter was dancing around in the wind. Pepe could only think about the small sheath of metal between him and the air below. They headed past the Many Glacier hotel. It looked like a huge, wooden sentinel in a mountainous ice world. The helicopter flew past the hotel to the summer campground area at the far western portion of Swiftcurrent Lake. They didn’t see any signs of humans until they spotted two low-lying tents, stretched out under the trees at the farthest campground. Keme shouted, “That must be their camp, they can’t be too far from here. We’ll first fly over two upper glacier lakes, Josephine and Grinnell. On a sunny day like this, the lakes will be shining like liquid aquamarines. Great photo ops.”
They flew up the valley leading up to Grinnell Glacier, past the lakes. No sign of them. Above Grinnell Lake, they were face to face with Grinnell Glacier and the smaller Salamander Glacier above it. One hundred years ago both glaciers were one and the mass of ice extended 1,000 feet high, enclosing what is now ice-free Grinnell Lake. The remnants of this massive glacier are just ghosts of its former self, maybe 10 percent of its former mass. In another 20 years there may be no Grinnell or Salamander Glaciers to gaze at.
“The other place they could be, is up the glacier valley to Iceberg lake, nestled beneath a cirque of peaks,” Keme yelled back at Jerry and Pepe. “If they’re not there, we’ll have to turn back because we’re getting short of fuel.” Pepe couldn’t help thinking, I hope they’re not there. I’m ready for dry land, a nice warm bed and a steak dinner.
As Pepe’s luck would have it, as soon as the copter came over the last ridge to Iceberg Lake, they saw the two figures below, looking up at them. Moment of truth. “You boys ready?”
“Sure we are Keme,” answered Jerry before Pepe had a chance to voice any objections.
“Time to hook you two up. We can wench both of you down at the same time. The winds are not up so the lines shouldn’t tangle. Put on your packs and we’ll hook you onto the slings. It’ll be like being cradled in your mother’s arms.”
Pepe found his voice. “I don’t know about your mother’s arms Keme, but whenever my mother held me as a baby, she almost smothered me in her large bosom.”
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Speaking through a wide grin, Keme replied, “Okay, just think of the sling as being in the arms of your favorite supermodel.”
Stepping off the side of the helicopter was a giant mental leap for Pepe, even with a metal cable attached to the sling. The copter’s blades buffeted them for the first 20 feet. When that settled down, Pepe managed to enjoy it. Sort of like a vertical zip line. Instead of whizzing along the top of a jungle in Costa Rica, this was a slow motion, swinging panoramic ride. The two were grabbed by Zack and Drury below, and unhitched. Drury gave a couple of yanks on the slings and the slings were pulled back up. Zack looked at the two. “You certainly don’t look like terrorists, but you seem lost. Who are you guys?”
Jerry replied, with a note of sarcasm in his voice, “We’re your friendly process servers. We go to any lengths to find our witnesses. My colleague, the one looking a bit green, is Cal DOJ Special Agent Pepe Cantana, and I’m Jerry Slater, Homeland Security Investigator, at your service. Remember the drug smuggling ring in Yaak that you reported to our task force leader, Nick Drummond, a number of months back? No good turn goes unrewarded. Drury, because you were the one who first viewed the crooks, and got a gun stuck in your face, you win an expense free trip to San Diego to testify before a federal grand jury in two weeks.”
“What about me?” asked Zack. “I was there.”
“You were there Zack. But you aren’t as prone to violent encounters as your buddy. Uncle Sam doesn’t have an unlimited budget, notwithstanding our dramatic helicopter appearance.”
Pepe said, “Sorry to drop in on you guys without notice and I don’t mean to be rude, but I’d like to get down the mountain as soon as we can. Twenty degree weather with snow everywhere in the middle of this glacier wonderland doesn’t thrill me.”
Zack replied, “We should get going. We were just packing up to head back to our tents at the Swiftcurrent Lake campground. We should tell you boys that we did see grizzly tracks coming up here. It might be the same female grizzly with her cub that we saw down by the lake at a bighorn sheep kill. They had both been munching on a thawed out carcass. Mama and the cub had blood saturated throughout their muzzles and claws. I got a couple of great shots of them from about 100 yards away. Here, let me show you on my camera.” Zack flipped through the images until he found the ones that he wanted to show to Pepe and Jerry. A huge grizzly, with a red painted face, stared at them. Her four paws were resting on layers of rocks. The long curved claws were also red-hued, grasping onto the shale. Zack went to the next photo. A cub was walking towards them, with the same red face and curved claws, a miniature version of his mother.