Twin Firs, page 2
Chapter 2 – The Foxy Hiker
Leo Grabowski was terrified.
He knew he was about to die.
The first day of his backcountry hiking adventure at the Cascadian Western Resort had been bad; with no one to talk to he engaged in lengthy conversations with himself. The second day was better; his mind was starting to settle. He was still feeling withdrawal anxiety from not being around people but when he got lonely he'd turn on his cell phone a few minutes to text friends. On the third day he decided to keep his phone off and just listen to the wind, the birds, the squirrels. Dinner would be a treat – a vacuum sealed salmon steak he planned to grill on his campfire.
The mountain weather was perfect. Warm during the day and cool in the evening but not cold. He'd packed a jacket and several shirts in case it rained unexpectedly. In the area around Yellowstone where he grew up afternoon monsoons would often develop and drench anyone not smart enough to seek shelter. He was told it never rained in the summer in the Pacific Northwest – even in the mountains – yet he was reluctant to believe that.
Leo hadn't done much hiking before. This was the first time he'd followed a trail deep into the forest to set up a pup tent and camp overnight. He hadn't planned to camp alone. When his companions canceled he decided to go to the resort anyway. He needed time alone to himself to figure out what he was going to do with the rest of his life. He loved his job as a schoolteacher. He wasn't sure he could handle the hazards that beset schools these days. Teaching was fun, policing was not.
As he built the fire from sticks he'd gathered, and then slowly added larger branches from fallen trees, he thought about his ancestors from thousands of years before. Millions of years. How many generations ate fish? When did they start eating lox and bagels? He knew Jews brought lox to New York after learning how to preserve salmon from Nordic fishermen. He wondered how long had they been brining fish?
He thought about it: Here he was in the woods, away from everyone and everything, cooking over a fire as his ancestors must have done thousands of years ago. He felt – like a man. He felt like a real human being, not someone softened by modern conveniences. He felt the connection to all the men and women who came together to create him. He felt tough and strong and masculine. Like he was master of all he surveyed.
He felt like maybe he could overcome anything. Even the thing that drove him into the woods in the first place.
As the fire steadied into a dependable flame, he propped his grill on top of several rocks he'd pushed together. Yes, this was a perfect night. Not too many mosquitoes, and none around the campfire. Stars were appearing all over the darkening sky. He acknowledged how good it was to be alive.
He pulled the packaged salmon from his pack and speared open the bag with his camping knife. Some of the white albumin juice drizzled his hand as he tossed the steak onto the grill. It smelled amazing – a powerful pungent aroma. Just like his ancestors must have experienced so many years before.
He didn't hear the black bear rustling through the underbrush.
Leo turned away from the campfire and unzipped his pup tent to get the novel he'd been reading. He figured he'd read by the fire while his fish grilled. When he turned back to his rustic grill the sight of the bear surprised him so much he fell over backwards. The bear was about the size of a compact car. It was on the other side of the fire sniffing the air, smelling fresh salmon. It was ten feet away.
Leo froze.
His mind was racing. What do you do if you see a bear?? Make noise. Clatter pans. Drive it away. Don't run. Try to look big. He didn't have any pans to clatter. He didn't have bear spray. He's only 5'6”. The bear was bigger than him. And it was coming closer to the fire.
Leo did the next best thing he could think of. He slowly started crawling backwards away from the fire. He knew it wasn't going to leave; it smelled salmon. Which meant Leo had to get the hell out of there.
He crept backward, eyes glued on the real master of the forest. At that moment the bear was oblivious to him. It was focused on catching that fish it smelled.
After Leo dragged his butt about 20 feet from camp he cautiously stood up while still facing the bear. He hoped the bear couldn't see him on the other side of the flames. Maybe it had a bit of light blindness from the fire? Leo didn't know. He slowly stepped backwards, getting as much distance from the uninvited dinner guest as possible.
Another twenty feet and Leo slipped behind a cluster of fir trees out of view from the bear and turned to walk away. Quickly. Through the undergrowth, looking over his shoulder every few steps, hoping he'd made his escape.
His heart was pounding. The reality of his imminent death replaced his shock. The bear could bound through the forest in no time at all and slash him before he had time to duck and cover. Leo walked faster. It suddenly felt very cold to him – freezing. He thought the temperature must have plummeted severely in the last three minutes.
Leo couldn't hear where the bear was; he couldn't hear anything above the noise of his chattering teeth. But then he hadn't heard the bear walking into his campsite either.
He crouched behind a fallen log and risked looking back to see if the bear was about to attack. By now he was a hundred feet, maybe more, from his campfire. He could glimpse shadows dancing on the trees. He saw the bear in the glorious spotlight of the campfire sniffing at his tent, pawing it. Then with one slice of its huge paw the bear ripped his tent to shreds. He saw his water bottle fly over the fire and slam into a tree. From his hiding spot he watched the bear dig into his backpack like a rapacious warg and toss the contents everywhere.
Holy fucking shit I don't want to die.
In this super heightened state of mortality Leo realized he had to keep moving away while the beast was distracted. He had to get someplace safe.
Leo probably hiked at least a mile through the forest. It was difficult to know how far he'd gone because he was off the trail, stumbling over fallen branches, falling into dry streams, and clambering up hillsides.
He found a small rock outcropping and stopped to consider his options. The sky was full of stars overhead and the low moon left the forest in shadows. His flashlight was in his tent – or at least it used to be in his tent. If he kept going he'd eventually get completely lost. He turned on his cell phone. It had some battery left, though no more than about twenty percent. And no signal.
None of his friends knew where he was hiking so no one would come looking for him. He had no food. He wasn't wearing his jacket and the night was getting even colder.
He would have to go back. When it was safe.
When would that be?
He stared at the stars through the forest canopy. So many stars. More than he'd ever seen in the city. He even started noticing faint stars way beyond the shining constellations. His thoughts drifted and he wondered how he could tell his second grade students about this view of infinite space. How could he inspire them with the wonder of endless possibilities?
That is, if he returned to teach this fall. If the bear didn't eat him tonight. If he could get control of his nerves. His goal with this backcountry adventure was to get far enough away from civilization and sudden noises to calm his nervous system to stop the shakes. He survived a live shooter event a few months ago at a shopping mall. The possibility of an active shooter breaking into his classroom terrified him. The unexpected encounter with the bear, and surviving it, actually made him feel steady for the first time in months. The bear hadn't attacked him. Leo survived.
After waiting about two hours he returned to the demolished campsite to see what was left. The fire had died except for a few coals still glowing under the ash. His tent was ripped and useless. His food packages were strewn around the clearing, torn open and contents devoured.
He found his flashlight wrapped in the remnants of the tent, put on his jacket which smelled distinctly of bear, and gathered what he could. His pack, his clothes, two paperbacks.
He threw the food wrappers onto the smoldering ashes. With a couple strong breaths he managed to ignite the paper and melt the plastic so he'd leave nothing behind. With that accomplished he kicked dirt into the pit and stomped out the remaining embers.
A dozen yards or so from his original campsite was a small crawlspace under a fallen tree that could shelter him for the night. He rolled his sleeping bag over the moss, pulled what remained of his tent into the gap between the giant log and the ground, and stretched out to sleep. He hoped the bear got what it came for and wouldn't return.
The forest is a noisy place in the dark night. Lots of unknown critters snapping branches and sniffing the outside of his tent canvas.
Leo didn't sleep at all.
With first daylight he packed his gear and marched down the trail to the train station which was about a five mile hike. He paused on an overlook where he could get cell service and booked a motel room for the last two nights before his train reservation home. He also checked his dating app and responded to someone who looked like he could be fun. At least his week wouldn't be a complete loss.
In the tiny Twin Firs train depot, Leo stared at the travel posters nailed to the walls. When he heard Ethan re-enter the doorway he turned around quickly and asked apologetically, “I rinsed out my shirt. Is there someplace I could hang it?”
Ethan stood speechless. He hadn't expected to see this muscular hiker standing in his office without his shirt, and he really didn't expect him to have perfect chest hair and an inviting treasure trail cascading down his smooth stomach.
Leo noticed Ethan was staring and pretended to ignore it. He held his wet t-shirt up in his left hand as if to ask again.
Ethan stammered, “Anyplace out in the sun.”
“I'm Leo, by the way. Thanks for your help.” He extended his right hand.
Ethan looked at Leo's open palm, but hesitated to take it. He didn't know if this hiker was flirting with him or just being friendly. He joked, “How do I know you're not going to rub salmon juice on me?”
“I guess that's a risk you take,” Leo said lightly and stretched his hand further to shake.
“I try to avoid risks. But maybe I can trust you.”
“I teach second grade reading, writing and arithmetic. If you can't trust me, who can you trust?”
“Well,” Ethan considered, “my second grade teacher Ms. Cohen never let me down. So by extension, I guess I'll trust you.”
Ethan took Leo's hand with a firm grip and stepped closer to him. They held hands longer than casual acquaintances do when they first meet. They were both searching each others' eyes for a sign that this would be more than a casual acquaintance.
A small smile crept into Ethan's face. Leo started to smile as well. “Thank God for Ms. Cohen.”
Ethan's mind was spinning. He wanted to grab this hiker by the back of his neck and draw him into a passionate kiss. He wanted to pull the musky hiker's body close and run his hands over that gorgeous chest. He wanted to dissolve into this man until they became one. However his rational mind prevented him from doing what he wanted. Like it usually did. He broke the tension and backed away, dropping the hiker's hand. “So what happened with the bear?”
Leo felt his connection with the station master dissolve and was disappointed. He also took a few steps back before recounting the past three days of camping. “I've been walking all morning to get back here in time for the train. Texted my friends. Told them what happened. Then this guy messaged me on Bareback. I figured – what the hell, maybe this trip wouldn't be a total waste. That's the guy I was supposed to meet.”
“Getting attacked by a bear doesn't sound like a total waste.”
Leo snorted. “Yeah, well, that's a story I wish I couldn't tell. Listen, my phone is about to die. Could I trouble you for an outlet?”
“First you want water and now you want electricity. What else do you want?”
Leo glanced at the pizza box on the ticket desk. “Well.... the bear did eat all my food.....”
Ethan started laughing. “Okay, okay. We can share the pizza. And breadsticks. Plug your phone in under the desk. Let's eat outside so we don't get grease on the furniture.”
“Thank you! Really. I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here.”
“Starve to death probably. Just lay here on my office floor and wither away. I'd never get any work done.” Ethan gathered the pizza box and breadsticks and carried them outside.
“I'd make a good throw rug. I've got the hair for it,” Leo responded.
Ethan blurted out, “Yes you do.” Then silently chastised himself for saying it.
Leo plugged in his phone under the desk and noticed the battered book stuck in the drawer. “Hey! You've got a novel jammed in your desk.”
Ethan blanched. “It's just an old paperback. Ignore it.”
Leo pulled the drawer open to free the book. “I've read this!” he said as he carried it outside. “A couple times. The Charm Offensive. I liked it. I don't think the author's written anything else.”
“No, she has. But I haven't read it. It's a story about two women. Not my scene.”
Leo unzipped his pack and pulled out a hardcover splattered with mud. “This one's pretty good. My Last Movie Star. Sort of a mix of Hollywood fan fiction and ghost story.” He sat down next to Ethan on the edge of the platform and they dangled their feet above the train tracks. “Here, why don't you take it, if you don't mind the bear prints. This was my third time reading it.”
“Do you usually read books over and over again?”
“I guess,” Leo admitted. “If it's a story I like, I just want to live it again. Helps me escape reality. What about you? Looks like your book has been pillaged a few times.”
“Not by me. I petsit my neighbor's dog. She's a voracious reader.”
“Thus explaining the dog-eared pages.”
“She eats bookmarks.”
“So apparently she's voracious in general.”
Ethan couldn't remember the last time he'd had a lighthearted conversation. “Have some pizza. It's gluten-free.” He opened the box under Leo's nose.
“Ooooo, with extra cheese. I love it. You have good taste. I'd offer to spread anchovies on this but, you know, the bear...”
“Ate your anchovies? You packed anchovies to go camping? I think I question your taste.”
“I'm sort of pescatarian.”
Ethan gave him the side-eye. “Which means....?”
“I didn't pack Spam or Vienna sausages.”
“Good thing, since our bears are Spam connoisseurs. Didn't you read the trail warning signs about hiking alone?”
Leo took a bite of the pizza and strings of cheese stretched over his chin. “Oh my god, this is sooo good. Wow. Best cheese pizza I've had all week.”
“I suppose you'll say that about the breadsticks too.”
Leo bit into a breadstick and covered his mouth while talking. “Mmmmm, best breadstick I've had in a month!” He continued chewing. “Some friends invited me to come to the resort. They backed out last week. So I came anyway.”
“You have cheese on your chin.”
Leo searched in the food bag for a napkin. “I probably look like shit. I haven't shaved in days.”
“No,” Ethan said, revealing more than he intended, “you look great.”
Leo looked into Ethan's eyes. “So do you. That burgundy vest is your color. Goes well with your green eyes.”
“Like yours.”
“Maybe we could be related.”
Without thinking Ethan said “We could. I mean we could have the same ancestors.”
“We could,” Leo agreed. “I've always wondered: Is it considered incest when gay relatives sleep together?”
Ethan choked on his pizza and began coughing uncontrollably.
“Are you okay??”
“Pizza...” Ethan tried to say between coughs “went down... wrong pipe.”
“I'll get you some water.” Leo grabbed his water bottle from his pack and ran into the station bathroom to fill it. Ethan continued to cough.
Leo returned, handing his bottle to Ethan who took a deep swallow. Then spit it out. “Tastes like lime Kool Aid.”
“Oh, yeah. To cover the taste of the chlorine dioxide tablets so I don't get sick from stream water. They say there's no aftertaste, but I think there is.”
“I'm not sure which is worse,” Ethan croaked. He cleared his throat a couple times.
“Better?”
“Yes. I'm fine.” He wasn't. He was red in the face and totally bewildered. He couldn't gauge whether this hiker was hitting on him or not. His ability to read social cues was terrible. If the hiker was attracted to him he didn't know what he would do. He pushed the box of pizza away as a distraction. “I don't think I want anymore. Finish the rest.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. A bear didn't eat my breakfast Crunchy Oats and Almonds.”
With the mention of cereal Sylvia and Sylvester raised a chattering raucous in the tree. “I hear you,” Ethan glared up at them. “If you want water or breadsticks you have to come down. I'm not bringing it up there.”
“Who are you talking to....?”
Sylvester was the first one on the ground, leaping onto the opposite rail on the track, then stopped to stare at the stranger. Sylvia followed behind a moment later. She crossed over the rail and slowly, cautiously crept toward the open pizza box.
Ethan cautioned Leo. “If you leave the box open they consider it an invitation.”
“Really? You normally feed them?”
“Don't tell anyone. It's against the resort rules.”
Leo pushed the box a bit closer to the edge of the platform. “They can't eat much.”
“Are you kidding? Sylvia here will drag off the entire pizza. Close the box if you don't want to lose it.”
“I gotta see this.” Leo pushed the box all the way to the edge.
Sylvia glanced both directions up and down the tracks, as if she was looking for a train. Then stood on her back legs. Sniffed the air a moment.
“Come on,” Leo prodded.
“She doesn't need encouragement.”
In a flash Sylvia leapt on the platform and landed in the box. She took a couple bites of the cheesy dough, and then with the third bite began dragging the remaining slices out of the box and off the platform where they dropped beside the track. Sylvester ran over to help and both of them hopped over the rails with huge slices of pizza in their mouths, struggling to wrestle the greasy dough up the tree trunk.
