Crash!

 I went hiking up into the high country where the snow still lingers and came across this wreck.  I found the identification plate or whatever it's called which told me it was, or once had been, a C-119, the flying boxcar, an Air Force workhorse of the early 1950s.

Those dogs, by the way, are border collies. I trained them myself. They are very quick learners and very smart.  Together we are a great team, their keen sense of smell and hearing combined with my far-scanning eyes make it very unlikely any predator can surprise us. Were we hunting, no game could escape us. And, of course, they are superb cow dogs.  But they were taking some time off from work to accompany me on my rambles.  

I really am happy to be away from people and the obligation to deal with strangers and all manner of disagreeableness.  Now that I am away from the teeming hordes, I see how ... -- well, never mind.  I don't care.  Why dwell on such things?  I've escaped, that's all that matters.

I spent the night camped out on the mountain, sleeping soundly in my little backpacking tent and sleeping bag, the dogs curled up next to me.  We kept each other toasty warm.  In the morning, I made pan biscuits from scratch (I'd already mixed the flour and other ingredients and stored them in a baggie) baking them in a skillet over my campfire till they were crusty brown on the outside, light and chewy on the inside, fried a couple of eggs and some bacon -- the aroma made me famished -- and chowed down with a will.  Then I washed it all down with campfire coffee -- tossing the fresh grounds into the coffee pot and adding an eggshell to mellow the brew. When it just began to boil, I took it off the flames, threw a dash of cold water in the pot to settle the grounds and poured a cup, steam rolling away in the brisk mountain morning air.

I added the leftover bacon grease to the dogs' kibble for an extra treat for them. Nom! Nom! Nom!

Descending by a different route, I came across a mountain lake.  I thought I might take a swim, but the water was like liquid ice.  I saw that it was stocked with trout, probably by the state Fish and Game department.  They do it by helicopter. El jefe is a fisherman and I know that once he comes home he will love to hike up here and enjoy being the only angler, listening to the chatter of blue jays, wood doves and the wind soughing through the pines.

The day warmed as I descended and soon I was hot enough to take off my jacket, then, after a while, still hot, I unzipped the lower half of my pants and -- voila! -- I was wearing shorts. 

I was not following any path, just making my own judgement as to how best to descend but basically following the lake outlet stream.  Eventually it led to a canyon.  That gave me pause.  It was boulder-strewn and appeared to narrow.  Could I make it through?  I thought about back-tracking and trying to find another way down, but the only other way would be to climb back to where I had camped and then descend the way I had climbed up.  I didn't think I would have enough daylight to do that, plus I didn't want to face that climb.  So I entered the canyon.  And it did narrow, and it was difficult.  There was no wind and it grew hot so that I was sweating heavily.  I took a break, unsnapping and dropping my backpack with a sigh of relief, then took a long drink of water from my canteen. My feet were tired and sore.  I took off my boots and socks and inspected them.  No blisters, thankfully.  I fished an apple out of my backpack and ate it slowly, not because I was hungry so much as to give me an excuse to linger.  I really didn't want to face having to boulder hop and wade down that canyon any more.  But I had no choice.  So, after a few minutes, I splashed water from the stream on my arms, legs and face to wash off the sweat and cool down.  The water was cool, not cold, and when I stood in it with my naked feet, after a minute or so, it actually felt warm, or warmish.

And that was good because not long after I resumed my plod, the canyon opened up and the stream broadened into a wide pool with no boulders to cross it on and it looked too deep to wade.  I was going to have to swim it. I took off my clothes and bundled them into my backpack, along with my boots, taking out the big plastic trash bag I had brought along to cover the pack with should I have been caught in a thunderstorm.  I put the pack inside the bag and tied it tightly closed, making sure to trap a lot of air inside.  Then I gingerly stepped into the water, waiting a minute or two after each few steps to accustom myself to the water temperature, glad it was not icy cold like the lake had been; I doubted I could have survived trying to swim that.  But this was okay, even pleasant, actually, in the close heat of the canyon.  At the last before stepping off into the deep, I tied the backpack to my wrist with a nylon cord so I wouldn't lose it, and let it float free. It seemed water tight, bobbing high on the water.

So I swam and floated down the river, letting my backpack drift ahead of me on the gentle current, my dogs paddling beside me, heads held high.  Being naked in this untouched wilderness canyon, feeling the sensuous caress of the water, I felt like Rima, the girl in W.H. Hudson's novel Green Mansions. What bliss!  I rolled over on my back and watched the sky and the walls of the canyon drift by as I was carried along by the current.  I completely lost my sense of self.  Barn swallows zoomed low over the water, passing within inches of me, so close I could feel the wind of their passage. Their high-pitched chattering was the only sound, until, eventually, I heard a trickle of noise that grew to a mild tumbling rumble of water rushing over rocks, and I knew my Edenic drift was over.  I pulled my backpack to me and pushed myself up over it to get a view of what was head. 

 The canyon was coming to an end and the stream spread out into a shallow bed in a sort of valley, more like what we called a flat, which is what it was.  I waded out of the stream and stood in the hazy sunshine while I twisted my hair to wring the water out of it. In a few minutes I was dry, although my hair was still damp, but that was okay, it cooled me.  I fetched my backpack out of the plastic bag. It was dry.  No water had seeped in, as I had feared.  I hesitated about putting my clothes back on, it felt so nice to be au naturel in nature.  But clothing not only provides modesty, it protects against sunburn, insects, and helps prevent cuts and scrape in a tumble.  So I donned them and, curiously, once I had done so, I felt chilly.  So I zipped on the lower half of my pants and slipped into my windbreaker.  I eased into my pack, glad for the extra warmth it provided to my back.

Looking around, I saw clouds beginning to drift down from the heights and I felt a fresh, cold breeze.  I was still pretty high up, the weather was that changeable mountain weather and the day was getting on.  I'd better get a move on and get off the mountain without delay.  The flat was easy walking and when it ended there was a natural trail made by generations of wild creatures that I strode along as it wound down the mountain to the prairie where I'd left my truck.  At the end of the trail, I hesitated, deciding which way to go:  was my truck to the left or the right of where I'd come out?  I looked at the surrounding mountains, looked behind me to see how the peak I'd descended from looked from here to compared to how it had looked from where I'd parked the truck.  I felt stupid for not having memorized that view.  The dogs looked up at me, expectant.  Why was I hesitating? I looked down at them.  Did they know where the truck was?  On an impulse, I clapped my hands  and cried, "Let's go!" and off they ran.  To my left.  I jogged along after them.  What else could I do?  In a few minutes I saw the light of the low sun reflected in a bright glint.  Glass! I thought, it has to be sunlight reflecting off glass and the only glass anywhere around was the windshield and windows of my truck.  It had to be.  And in another few minutes I saw it.  Oh, sweet relief.  I hadn't allowed myself to worry that after climbing and descending the mountain I would get lost at the last minute.  But I very well could have.  

When I got to the truck, the dogs were lying in it's shade panting slightly.  I got them some water which they slurped up and then offered them some kibble, but they weren't interested.  I tossed my backpack in the back of the truck, the dogs jumping in after it, climbed into the cab, drank the leftover coffee in the thermos I'd left on the passenger seat, stone cold but delicious, fired that mother up and bounced and jolted down to the main dirt road and headed home. By ten, I was eating a late dinner of twice-baked potatoes and roast beef, home-made hot rolls and a garden-fresh salad of watercress, lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, celery hearts, bell peppers and carrots laced with home-made french dressing -- civilization may have its discontents, but it also has its blessed contentments.  Then I took a long bath and crawled into my bed. I glanced out the window at the full moon, bright and low to the south, rolled over and went to sleep.