by Aria Grace
The trail I’ve selected for my maiden voyage includes several miles of sheer cliffs over a rolling creek. It’s not dangerous in most situations, but because of some recent bear sightings, the parks department has asked all guests to check in at the visitor center before heading out. It’s on my way, so I heft the bike frame up to my shoulder and walk inside the ranger station.
A bell chimes on the door, announcing my arrival.
“Just a second,” someone calls out from behind the front desk. A moment later, the ranger stands up, flashing big brown eyes and a growing smile that slowly reveals two deep dimples. “Hey, sorry about that. Dropped my pen.” He holds up a ball point pen proudly.
“Looks like you found it.” I lean my hip against the counter with my bike out of the way. “Are you our new ranger?”
“Ranger, receptionist, janitor, bushwhacker… The list goes on and on.” He motions to a broom and mop bucket against the far wall. “Budget cuts, you know.”
Finally, budget cuts actually serve a good purpose. Bringing this gorgeous man to my favorite park. “Welcome…um, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Collin. Collin Rich.”
“Good to meet you, Collin. I’m Gunnar Tobin.” I reach across the counter and take his hand in mine. His palm is just rough enough to prove he works hard for a living. He’s obviously a hands-on kind of ranger. And if I’m lucky, I can get him to play ranger with his hands on me someday. “I just wanted to check in before I hit Scorpion Trail.”
“Scorpion Trail?” He whistles between his teeth. “That’s pretty intense with rain coming in a few hours. You planning to do the entire trail?”
I glance at my watch. “I think I can make it up and back before it starts to pour. This baby here is light enough that I should be able to drop at least thirty minutes from my old time. And if it gets bad, I’ll turn around.”
“Sounds good, but don’t take any longer than necessary. There’s been some heavy rain up north and we might also see some flooding by this afternoon. I don’t want you getting caught out there.”
“Thanks, Ranger Rich.” I wink and then write my number next to my name on the visitor registration form, just in case he needs it. “I’ll check back with you on my way out.”
“Be sure that you do.” Collin’s eyes wander down my body and are lingering at the bulge in my spandex before they shoot back up to my face. “If I don’t hear from you by the time the water comes, I’ll have to go looking for you.”
I turn to leave, holding up three fingers just before I reach the door. “Scout’s honor, Ranger Rich.”
“Collin is fine,” he calls out to me as I open the door to leave.
I don’t look back at him before the door shuts behind me, but I can’t hide the smile I’ll be sporting until I’m back in here.
* * *
If I didn’t hear the rain forecast for myself this morning, I would think Collin was crazy because it’s absolutely beautiful. Of course, that can change at a moment’s notice, but right now, it’s a perfect day for a ride. The rain warnings must have scared the tourists and hikers away because there aren’t many people on the trails, which is exactly the way I like it. Scorpion Trail is only fifteen miles up and back, but there’s a 3500-foot climb, so it’s intense.
And when there are power walkers and joggers trying to take over the narrow road, it’s a nightmare. Trying to keep momentum while riding up hill and not killing anybody on the way down is almost as much of a workout as the ride itself.
But today won’t be like that.
Today, it’s just me and my new baby, out on a virgin ride to get to know each other.
Spring is taking forever to arrive this year, and I don’t want to miss a single minute of the sunshine. Now that I finally have my allergies under control, I can enjoy all the wild flowers in bloom without having itchy eyes and a runny nose. I just wish I’d remembered to grab my helmet camera to capture some of the beauty around me since I’ll be too focused on the trail in front of me to take it all in.
I’m more than halfway up the hill when the first drop of rain hits my arm. It feels good on my overheated skin, so I press on, pumping my legs even harder to crest the peak before it really starts to come down. The last stretch of the climb overlooks a series of waterfalls on the other mountain that are breathtaking, even in my peripheral vision. The current flow of water off the mountain is thicker and even whiter than usual, which reminds me that I need to get my ass in motion if I’m gonna avoid driving home completely drenched.
As I turn the final bend, a group of bikers pass on their way down. The man in front calls out to me as I scoot to the edge of the trail to make room for them. “Storm’s coming in. Better head back.”
“Right behind you,” I say as they ride past me. At least I will be in about ten minutes.
This last stretch is the worst, but I’ve done this ride a hundred times. And when I’m cruising down the mountain with the flurries of raindrops cooling me off, it will all be worth it.
A jack rabbit crosses right in front of me, forcing me to hit my brakes and almost lose control. Fortunately, I’m not going too fast to recover from the unexpected movement. Unfortunately, though, it slows me down enough to lose my uphill momentum. Now I have to work twice as hard in my lowest gear just to stay upright on this climb.
50
Sean
This is why I’ll probably flunk out of the photography program it took me two years to get accepted in to. Not because I don’t understand the work but because I keep procrastinating on my final project—the most important project of the semester. I don’t even know why it’s taken me until the last week of classes to get my ass out here to take the shots. I love photography and nature and hiking and everything that this project entails.
Yet, I’m still fiddling with lens and energy bars in my car instead of getting out on the trail.
What is wrong with me? My brother thinks I have a fear of success. I think he’s an idiot. What kind of person would be afraid of finding success? Is that even a thing? It doesn’t sound like a legit condition, but whether it is or isn’t, it doesn’t apply to me.
I’ve just been busy.
Being available as a counselor at Omega House is important work that has been creeping well beyond the hours I’m clocked in. I really like being there for the new omegas when they arrive scared and vulnerable. I was there once, and I know exactly what they’re going through. Finding Omega House was the best thing that ever happened to me and my twin brother, Seth. We were fifteen when our dad died and within a few months of trying to stay in school and stay off the radar of social services, we were homeless and starving.
We wandered past a flyer for meetings at Omega House and as soon as we saw that free food would be served, we were in. That was seven years ago, and we’ve been living there ever since. Of course, now we’re both employed as resident counselors to earn our keep. But I don’t plan to stay there forever. I love it and wish I could commit my life to helping others, but I need to get out on my own at some point, and I’m hoping photography might be my ticket to independence.
A graphic design company offered the community college ten million dollars in grant money to set up a photography program to recruit photographers who would provide stock photos for their commercial use. If it sounds like I’ve sold my soul to the man, then I’m explaining it right because that’s exactly what I’ve done. But if I pass the program, I’ll be offered an entry-level photography position with a guaranteed $40,000 salary for my first year, plus royalties.
That’s enough for Seth and me to get an apartment, and I’ll still have time to work at Omega House on a part-time basis.
But that’s only possible if I pass the class. And unless I can take a rare and completely unexpected photo in the next four days, I won’t be passing anything.
Which is why I finally strap on my backpack and adjust my poncho over the camera hanging from my neck and take off toward the trailhead.
* * *<
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The temperature has dropped several degrees, and the clouds seem to be getting darker by the second, but I’m not ready to throw in the towel. After scouring the internet for interesting photo opportunities this weekend, this is my best and only hope at something rare.
It wasn’t easy to find, but a forum on medicinal plants referenced a small patch of Karvi nestled along the rocks of the mountain. These purple flowers are native to India but must have been transplanted here at some point. And because they only bloom every eight years, they’re just starting to open up right now.
At least, that’s what I read.
If I can find the patch of Karvi and take some decent pictures of it, I’ll be fine. I know I can document my photo and the conditions with the kind of detail my professor is expecting. But if I can’t find it before the flowers die off or are destroyed by the high waters expected this week, I might as well kiss any hope of a career in photography goodbye.
There are signs posted in the parking lot asking all visitors to check in at the ranger station prior to getting on a trail. If I were here for an afternoon hike, I totally would. But I don’t plan to go far enough on any trail for that to matter. The instructions I read online said that the Karvi plant should be visible from the trail, right where the creek meets the base of the footbridge. If I’m lucky, I’ll be able to hike down to the creek bed, take my shots, and be back in my warm car before the first raindrop splashes down.
Although I’ve never actually been lucky before, this seems like a no-brainer.
After I carefully climb down the rocky bank to get closer to the creek, a patch of purple flowers becomes visible up ahead. They’re only about twenty yards away, so I head straight for them with my camera ready. Just as I’m about to take my first shot, I realize they aren’t the Karvi flowers I’m looking for. They’re pretty blueish-purple flowers that would make a nice photo, but they aren’t special in any way. And what I need right now is special.
While I’m here, I take a few minutes to get some shots of the various stages of blooms, but these pictures won’t earn me a job.
In fact, these look like the shots taken by every single Photography 101 student since the beginning of time…or the camera.
Movement up ahead catches my attention, and I look downstream just in time to see a family of deer crossing the creek. I can’t get my lens cover off fast enough to capture the animals on film, but it does make me smile to see actual wildlife in its natural environment. Hoping the deer know where the interesting plants are, I follow in the direction they’re going, sticking close to the water so I don’t get lost.
I’ve only been walking for about five minutes before I feel the first drops of rain hit the back of my neck. So much for my luck holding out. Or maybe my bad luck is holding out. I tell myself it’s just my imagination and keep trudging on, determined to find something photoworthy before I have to turn back and take cover.
The rocks are slippery, slowing me down as I try to maneuver the uneven and narrow shore. Following the bend is where I finally feel a glimmer of hope that this will all workout. Just a few yards ahead of me, sticking out of the rocky wall, is the patch of Karvi I need to complete my portfolio project. And the freezing water trickling down my back is all worth it.
The plant itself is a fairly standard-looking shrub. Other than the fact that they hardly ever bloom, it isn’t a very remarkable flower. It’s pretty, and interesting because I’ve never seen one in person before, but it’s still just a purple flower growing out of the mountainside. A smaller patch is growing about six feet above the waterline, but in order to get close enough for the undershot I want, I’ll have to get my feet wet.
The water is only about eight inches deep where I need to stand, but it’s moving quickly. It must be raining harder upstream because I have to shift my weight forward in order to keep my balance as I tread closer to my destination.
For this project, composition matters.
The shapes and colors and textures will all be scrutinized for perfection. In addition to composition, lighting and subject will all be weighted equally so I can’t leave any angle or position uncaptured.
I snap about thirty shots with my neutral density filter before twisting it off and switching to my polarizing filter. In this lighting, the shots are totally different, so I take another full set. Raindrops are falling faster now and collecting on my lens, so I pull out my travel umbrella and try to hold it between my neck and shoulder while adjusting my angle.
I’m just about satisfied I have all the shots I need to put my final portfolio piece together when I hear shouting in the distance. It takes me a minute to figure out where it’s coming from, but at the top of a cliff, a man beside a bike is waving his arms. He seems to be in distress, but I can’t hear what he’s shouting over the sounds of rushing water behind me. It takes a split second before my mind registers the sound before I turn and see a wall of black water rushing toward me.
I don’t even have time to get out of the way before I’m completely engulfed in the rapids, rolling through the dirty waves as they toss me above the surface only long enough to catch my breath before pulling me back under again through the rocks and debris.
51
Collin
I’m just about to dig into my second peanut butter and jelly sandwich when the lights flicker, and the power goes out. It takes a few seconds for the backup generator to kick in, but it doesn’t bode well for the kind of day I’m going to have. If it weren’t for the hot cyclist who stopped in earlier, today would be one of my shittiest days yet. Normally, I love my job. I like being in the wilderness, and I love introducing others to the great outdoors.
But today just hasn’t been my day.
My phone died overnight, so my alarm didn’t go off this morning. And because I was rushing to get to work on time, I clipped my mailbox with the back fender of my truck. If it were my personal truck, it wouldn’t be such a big deal. But I was driving my work truck, which means I have to file an incident report and explain my negligence to my new boss.
I don’t think a fender ding will get me fired, but it’s embarrassing to make such a stupid mistake when I’m still so new on the job. The lights kick on with the backup generator at the same time that my radio starts crackling.
“Station 1432. Report status. Over.”
“Ranger Collin Rich at Station 1432. Power is out, but the generator is working. Over.”
“Flash floods heading your way, Station 1432. Close the park and evacuate immediately. Over.”
“Copy that.” Shit. I didn’t think this day would get much worse, but after taking a quick look at the visitor log, my stomach drops. There’s a group of five cyclists that should have been back by now, and Gunnar Tobin still hasn’t checked out. It hasn’t quite been an hour, so he might be on his way in right now, but I can’t take any chances. After logging my intention in the county database that I report into daily, I gear up for the rain, and strap on my emergency pack.
It’s not coming down hard yet, but even from a few hundred yards away, I can hear the water rushing through the normally bubbling creek below the cliff line. Scorpion Trail ends at the small footbridge behind the trailhead, so I start there and begin hiking up the trail.
The group of bikers I was worried about pedals off the bridge just as I approach it. “Good timing,” I say to the man leading the group when he stops beside me. “Mandatory evacuation due to flash flooding. Try to get off the roads as soon as possible.”
“We’re heading out now. But there was a solo rider heading up just as we began our descent. He said he’d be right behind us, but I haven’t seen him yet.”
“That’s who I’m going to find right now.” I tap the front of my cap with my finger in a friendly dismissal. “Drive safely.”
The man gives me a curt nod before slipping his helmet back on and joining his friends at the trailhead.
At least I’m only looking for one person and not six.
The wind is
picking up, so I turn up my collar and zip the front of my jacket as I head into the chill.
The creek that was about three feet wide this morning is now closer to six and widening by the minute as water flows downstream. I’ve only been at this park for a few weeks, but I’ve never seen anything like this. About a hundred feet down the path, I see the cyclist I’m looking for coming toward me at top speed.
He shakes his head and doesn’t slow down at all as he passes me, pointing to a flash of red up ahead. Annoyed that he doesn’t stop, I sigh and take off after him, trying to catch up. Within seconds, I realize what he was pointing to. There’s a man in the water, clinging to a mattress that is wedged between some logs and rocks.
Waves are washing over him, but his head keeps popping up above the waves. Gunnar reaches him first, throwing his bike to the side before climbing into the frigid water.
As I’m running, I swing my backpack around to my front and disconnect the length of rope I have coiled and hanging from a carabiner. “Hold up, Gunnar,” I call out to the man. “Give me a second.”
He looks back at me like I’m crazy as he reaches for the man just as he slips underwater yet again.
My heart is racing as I watch Gunnar pull the man out of the water and throw him half over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. With practiced motions, I fasten the rope around the base of a tall boulder while keeping one eye on the men still wedged against the mattress. It’s not an ideal method for securing anyone in such a precarious situation, but I don’t have enough time to find a better spot.
This will have to do.
Tucking the rope as low underneath the back edge as I can, I say a quick prayer before walking into the water to meet Gunnar.
He is close to the edge of the rocks when a huge wave of water and debris comes rushing toward us again. I wrap the rope around my left hand two times and then lunge for him, wrapping my arms around his back just as the flood crashes into all three of us. The man in his arms flails with the onslaught of cold water on his body, and Gunnar almost stumbles. But we manage to stay upright long enough for the worst of the wave to pass.