by Ed Robinson
“Apparently,” I said. “We had a fresh scent down close to the lake that day. The one that disappeared into the water, or mud.”
“But we’ll never know when we might stumble onto a fresh scent,” she said. “We could find something and not have the dog with us.”
“That’s a lot of we and us,” I said. “I thought you were going to bail on me when I got close.”
“I’m split on the issue,” she said.
“How so?”
“I’m getting personally invested in finding this guy now,” she said. “But I don’t want to distract you when you get all Zen. I’d become a liability when the real tracking begins.”
“Even Red will be a liability if it gets down to me and the hermit in the woods,” I said. “He’ll know a dog is coming. Red will give me away from a mile off.”
“But we’re nowhere near that point yet,” she said. “So I keep helping you zero in. Let me know when I need to retreat.”
“Maybe I can have you stage out there somewhere,” I suggested. “I might need some backup, or even rescue.”
“We need two-way radios,” she said. “We can probably get them at the same place we get a GPS.”
“Better than smartphones,” I said. “Good old walkie-talkies.”
“Next I’ll talk you into a TV,” she said. “With cable.”
“That’s a discussion for another day,” I said. “We should head back. We’ve done well.”
We didn’t waste time looking for additional clues on the hike back. We had some groundwork to take care of before we returned. After we picked up the additional equipment and drove through the area we wanted to search, we’d return. I wanted time to thoroughly study a good map too. I weighed the pros and cons of having our hound dog with us. I felt like we’d reduced the potential acreage to search significantly, which was a positive development. I also wondered what the Beech Mountain Chief was doing.
After we got home, I plugged the SAT phone into the charger, anticipating a call from Rominger. I was dying to know if there had been any progress on the mystery intruder on Beech Mountain. If that lead led to the killer, there would be no need to continue looking for the hermit. Don’t get me wrong, half of me desperately wanted to find the man, but half of me was afraid of failure. I was still relatively new to these mountains. I’d discovered a skill I never knew that I possessed, a talent really, but we assumed that the hermit was a true expert. In fact, in my mind, I’d bestowed him with mythical skills. I wasn’t sure I could beat him.
We drove down to Valle Crucis the next day to see what Mast General Store had to offer. They stocked several varieties of handheld GPS units designed for hikers. They also had two-way radios that were very small and light. We got what we needed in one stop, except for a good topographic map. We struggled with that. They were available online, but we didn’t own a computer. Brody finally suggested that we try the library. We were able to print several different versions for a small fee.
We then drove through Banner Elk heading west towards Tennessee on NC 194. From the small town of Elk Park, we drove onto Walnut Mountain Road, which took us into the Cherokee Wildlife Management Area, which straddled the Tennessee and North Carolina border. This was the place to access the wilderness area we’d seen from the top of that ridge the day before. We continued to drive, taking note of places to pull off the road. There were a few state managed trailheads with small dirt parking lots that we could utilize. I marked each one on a map for future reference.
We weren’t actually in the woods searching for a ghost, but we were laying a foundation for our hunt. I felt good about it. My gut told me that the hermit was in the Cherokee forest. It was just down the mountain from Buckeye Lake and the homes that had been broken into, but it was undeveloped. Hiking up that side of Beech was no picnic, but it wouldn’t deter a longtime mountain man like our hermit.
We went home to our cabin to study the new maps and prepare for long mountain hikes. I spread everything out on the kitchen table, and it reminded me of how I used to study marine charts anytime I was about to take the boat to someplace new. I had a fine chart plotter on the boat, but I always relied on paper charts to plan my trips in advance. I had to take our new GPS outside for it to pick up satellites. It was not a sophisticated model, but it would keep us from getting lost, and we could mark waypoints if necessary.
Brody tested the two-way radios, before handing me one and telling me to start walking and talking. I made it more than a half-mile before we started losing contact. I was sure they’d work further apart if we had a clear line of sight with each other, but the mountain rocks limited the signal’s reach.
I loaded backpacks with bottled water and high-energy snacks while Brody fixed dinner. After we ate, she gave our handguns a good cleaning, even though they were already spotless. She was serious about our gun maintenance, so I let her do her thing. She proved early on that she was a much better shot than I was with handguns. I learned from her and got better, but she’d still whip me in a competition. I took solace in the fact that I was way better with a rifle than her. I could hit a stationary target at incredible distances, sniper-like.
We were ready for an extended hunt for a man we’d never seen. As far as we knew, no one had ever seen the hermit. When I thought too hard on that fact, I found it humorous. Did he even exist? Were we about to embark on the most epic wild goose chase ever? I tried to ground myself with all the reports of break-ins on Beech Mountain and the few clues I’d found down by the lake. Everything made sense, except for the complete lack of eyewitnesses.
We’d just spent good money on radios, a GPS and various maps, all to hunt someone who may not even be real. I couldn’t help myself. I laughed out loud.
“What’s so funny?” Brody asked.
“We’re going on a Bigfoot hunt,” I said. “Looking for the Loch Ness Monster.”
“What are you talking about?”
“When I was a teenager, we told stories about the Hook Man of Blackbird Forest,” I told her. “We’d heard those stories from previous generations. It was a myth, but it persisted. There are probably kids there now talking about Hook Man.”
“You think the hermit is an imaginary creature?”
“Actually, I don’t,” I said. “But it struck my funny bone to think that he might be.”
“You have a strange sense of humor,” she said. “All this time I thought this was serious business.”
“The girl’s murder is certainly serious business,” I said. “That’s why we’re trying to help.”
“We’re now focused on this questionable hermit,” she said. “We’ve been excluded from the police work. What makes us think he had anything to do with it? Tell me why we’re looking for him again.”
“We know he was near the lake at the time of the killing,” I said. “Or at the time she was dumped. Red was on his trail. His scent was fresh.”
“That makes him a suspect,” she said. “Opportunity for one, but the mystery of the man too.”
“Which isn’t logical,” I said. “We have no basis to suspect him without evidence. We either find the evidence, or we find the man.”
“And he could have been a witness,” she said. “If he was there when the body was dumped.”
“Which he would be in no hurry to report,” I said. “He wouldn’t want to expose himself.”
“He’s gone all these years without being seen,” she said. “He can’t come forward now.”
“Exactly.”
“So we find him,” I said. “Then find out what he knows. Maybe we’ll discover something tying him to the girl. Maybe he’ll tell us what he saw.”
“Or who he saw,” she added.
I spent some quality time with my hound dog after dinner. I’d been neglecting him lately, but he was a very tolerant type. He was happy to share me with Brody and allowed me other pursuits besides playing the missing sock game. I hoped to be able to include him in the hermit search at some point. If I could man
age to get something with the mystery mountain man’s scent on it, Red would find him a lot quicker than I ever could.
We’d been too busy. I took some time to sit by the fire, Red’s head in my lap, and read a good book. I was on book three in the Chase Fulton Series by Cap Daniels. It was full of boats and tropical locations that took me back to my Florida days. His hero was new at his work, much like I was. He overcame his inexperience and an occasional mistake with quick thinking and decisive action. Chase Fulton kept moving towards his goal, staying aware, overcoming obstacles, and following clues until his mission was complete. It was a satisfying read that kept me up a bit late.
I had an unsatisfying dream that night. It was an endless walk through the woods. Walking, walking, and walking for miles and miles. There was no hermit. There were no clues. There were trees and rocks and flora and fauna, but that was it. I walked what seemed like forever in my dream and found nothing at all. It felt like Forrest Gump running across the country for no reason at all. Just running and running with no end in sight.
Thankfully, I didn’t feel tired from all the walking I’d done in my dream the next morning. I felt refreshed, but my doubts had been renewed.
“Tell me the truth,” I said to Brody. “Is there any chance at all of finding this guy?”
“I think the odds are long,” she said. “But if anyone can do it, it’s you.”
“How long?” I asked. “Am I wasting my time?”
“This is where I tell you that a walk in the woods is never a waste of time,” she said. “Or some other inspirational platitude.”
“Seriously,” I said. “Can I do this?”
“I don’t recall you ever doubting yourself,” she said. “It’s not in your make-up.”
“Oh, I’ve doubted myself plenty,” I said. “I just never let it show. Now I’ve got you to bounce my thoughts off of.”
“Expand your thinking on this mission,” she said. “What’s bothering you?”
“You remember how you said you were split on the issue of going with me?” I asked. “I’m split on the idea of finding the hermit. It’s a fantastic challenge that I jumped at. It would be definitive proof of my new-found skills. It would validate everything I’ve become since moving here.”
“What’s the downside?” she asked. “You don’t find him. There’s nothing lost, except maybe a blow to your ego. If you do find him, you’re a hero, solver of the great Beech Mountain Hermit Mystery. You’ll be a legend.”
“Won’t matter much if it doesn’t lead to the girl’s killer,” I said. “If it wasn’t for her, I’d leave the hermit alone. Let him live his life the way he’s chosen.”
“You didn’t leave Pop alone,” she said.
“Pop found me when I stumbled into his pot farm,” I said. “I’d have never been able to find him, at least not back then. I learned from him.”
“Which again proves that you’re the man for the job,” she pointed out. “Who else is going to find a reclusive mountain man that can move like smoke?”
“You’re right,” I said. “Unless we hire another ghost man of the mountains, no one has any chance to catch this man. I’m as good as it gets. If I fail, I’ll have to deal with it, but I’ve got to try.”
“Go get ‘em, champ,” she said, slapping me on the ass.
Her encouragement was just what I needed that morning. She made me realize that I was enough of a man to manage the disappointment if I failed, but that I was uniquely equipped for this particular mission. She didn’t offer me an out. She could have told me that I didn’t need the aggravation. She could have reminded me that I was a volunteer, free to bow out whenever I chose. Instead, she convinced me that I needed to do this thing. That I could do this thing.
We got an early start, driving to one of the dirt parking lots inside the Cherokee Wildlife Management Area. I fired up the little GPS, and Brody turned on our radios. The walkie-talkies would allow us to spread out further if it became necessary. We put our packs on our backs and made tracks into the woods. We followed the obvious trail until we were deep into the woods. Using the GPS, we veered off the trail towards our intended search area. The farther we got from the established trail, the thicker the vegetation became. It slowed us down considerably. I remembered the machete that I’d seen at Mast General Store and regretted not buying it.
We trudged along without it, still feeling strong. All of our earlier hiking expeditions had prepared us well. Our mountain legs hadn’t come easy, but I was thankful for them now. Brody didn’t complain in the least. We kept putting one foot in front of the other, diving deeper and deeper into the wilderness. After a steep uphill climb, we stopped to rest.
“Where are we?” Brody asked.
“About a mile southwest of that ridge where we stopped last time,” I said. “On the southern edges of our potential search area.”
“Do we pick up where we left off?”
“Unless you have a better idea,” I said.
That mile was an up and down affair, taxing our legs even further. We didn’t have time to look closely for clues along the way. We wanted to make it to our last position and then start looking in earnest. Our man could have gone in many different directions from the top of the ridge, but I was positive that he’d gone down. His hideout would be in an area of heavy cover, far from the prying eyes of the stray hiker.
We rested again at the top of the ridge. It was a good long break that we both needed. We ate and drank and let our muscles recover.
“So we think he went down from here,” Brody said. “Straight down, or in some other direction?”
“Easiest to go straight,” I said. “But he’s exhibited the will to throw off any trackers before. I’d have to guess that he took some other direction.”
“Let me see the GPS,” she said.
She studied it briefly before handing it back to me.
“Straight down is due west,” she said. “Into the middle of the wildest zone. Seems like he’d go there.”
“But he wouldn’t necessarily choose a straight path,” I said. “It’s a crapshoot from here.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “We’re pretty far out here. Why would he think someone would follow him this far from civilization?”
“He didn’t stay anonymous this long without being paranoid,” I said. “Straight down is too obvious. He went north or south from this point. He can always circle back to center down there in the valley.”
“What’s your gut telling you?”
“North,” I said. “There are two towns to the southwest. Nothing to the north but Watauga Lake.”
“Why would he frequent Buckeye Lake if Watauga Lake was closer to home?” she asked.
“Not much there but the marina,” I said. “Breaking into boats is a sure way to get caught. Anyone on the docks would know who belonged and who didn’t.”
“All those easy empty houses on Beech are a much more inviting target,” she said.
“Just far enough away from his home base,” I speculated. “The cops ain’t coming out here.”
“You want to split up?” she asked. “I’ll let you take the northern route.”
“Gee thanks,” I said. “Once you get to the valley floor, move back towards the middle. We’ll use the radios to meet up eventually. You ready for this?”
“Ready,” she said.
Nine
I started my descent, angling to the north, while Brody did the opposite. Now we were actively searching for signs of the hermit’s passage. We still had half the day to look around. We were entering the mystery man’s turf. We were on his terms from here on out. I tried to put myself in his shoes. The base of the ridge, down there on flat ground, seemed a likely place to hide from people. He’d need shelter of some kind, far from established trails, but close enough to those vulnerable cabins. There would be no point in having a base of operations any further from where he worked.
I alternated between looking at the ground for footprints and ey
eing the thick woods in the center of the valley. I moved slowly, concentrating on the search for clues. Whenever I came to a good observation post, I’d stop and surveil those woods, looking for movement. This area was not included in any of the hiking guides. The chances of running across some random person were almost non-existent. It was a wildlife area, not a park. Hunting here was forbidden, and deer season was long gone. I suddenly began to worry about bears. This was an ideal habitat for them, and the winter’s hibernation was over. We hadn’t thought to bring bear spray, though we were both armed.
Gunshots would send our hermit into hiding and destroy any chance of finding him that day. Of course, then I started worrying about Brody. I’d sent a woman off into the wilderness by herself, and now I was second-guessing that decision. I sat on a fat rock and called her on the radio.
“Be aware of the possible presence of bears,” I said. “I hadn’t thought about that.”
“Great,” she said. “Fucking bears. I probably look like a nice little snack.”
“It ain’t gators or mosquitoes,” I said. “At least we have our guns.”
“Have you seen anything yet?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said.
“Me neither,” she said. “Meet you at the bottom.”
After our brief conversation, I sat still for a while, taking in the mountain scenery and appreciating nature. There were no roses to stop and smell, but a multitude of other scents filled the crisp air. I took some slow deep breaths, drinking in the refreshment. My meditation was disturbed by the sound of some critter approaching. I kept still, waiting to see what it was. A gray fox came into view from higher up the hill. It saw me and stopped, smelling the air. It didn’t seem too concerned with my presence, but it came no closer. I let it go about its merry way before standing and continuing downward.