The Trailhead

Part 1

When I was younger I used to work over summer at the Ganesa Springs Wildlife preserve in Forest County, Wisconsin. It was about as far North as you could get without crossing the Wisconsin-Michigan border at the Brule River and deep in the heart of the Chekwaumegon National Forest. I still remember my first day on the job like it was yesterday.

I walked the long, beaten, sandy stone laden man made trails long into the heart of the woods surrounding the preserve cursing near the entirety of my trip. The eighty degree, humid weather from a weeks worth of rain did me no favors, that was for certain. My only reprieve had been the large hand like extensions of the oak and ash and maple trees that seemed to cover the forest canopy as though they were seeking to keep something out.

Or in.

I picked up a five foot long, gnarled stick that looked like an old wizard staff I'd seen in so many fantasy movies and for just a moment, I at 26 years old, felt like a kid again. I twirled the staff, observing the knots of wood as they brushed against the palm of my hand and tried to avoid a splinter from the more unsavory sections of the ancient weapon that my ancestors had no doubt used to slay a hundred Balrog or Dire Wolves.

When I finally arrived at the watch tower, I was so exhausted from the initial walk in that I stood at the first skeletonized steel step for about five minutes, catching my breath, before I even attempted to ascend the stairs up.

The first four levels were simple turns into more stairs and the usual flat ten foot by ten foot walking section that most watch towers in the state had but by the fifth level, with my fear of heights, I dared not to look down. When I finally got to the top, to the small cabin area of the watch tower where the overnight ranger on duty would keep an eye out for fires and sleep most of the evening, I stopped at the heavy metal door that separated the cabin from the outside world. There were local maps with notes scrawled on them all over the door, covering it nearly completely. I looked them over for a moment, allowing them to take my eyes off of the ground below and my mind off of the precarious position I could be in were a sudden gust of wind to blow through.

For a moment, I was lost in the plethora of maps before the door pulled open into the cabin and the ranger on the shift before me stood in the doorway. I quickly grabbed the frame of the door to steady myself when I saw the ground below me in my peripheral vision. It can be quite debilitating. My fear was so bad that it had once caused me to spend and hour stepping forward and backward on a wooden bridge at a local park with my brother. It wasn't until he grabbed me and pulled me across that I was able to make it. The mind is a funny thing, to my brother at least. It wasn't funny to me.

"Ah, you're here." It was all the thin faced man said to me. He looked as though he hadn't eaten a hearty meal in near three months and his hollow cheeks made me afraid to ask his age. "This is all you'll need. It's quite self explanatory." He reached out and handed me a red book roughly the size of a small highschool textbook and a set of keys. "Pass them along to Barney in the morning." He shimmied past me and began his descent down the stairs.

I stepped inside of the watch tower and felt my stomach settle and the uneasy feeling that had permeated my every pore slowly faded away. I breathed deep and smelled the gentle air of the small cabin. First I smelled pine and then spruce(they're significantly different by the way) and then I smelled the hearty scent of maple syrup. I unloaded the hiking pack that I had carried over my shoulder and moved most of my belongings near an old looking pullout couch in the corner.

We had been told to bring a quilt or blanket or something to sleep on each night as a way to keep others from having to sleep on the same surface as the previous ranger that kept watch. I stood erect for a moment and looked over my new living quarters. There was a desk with papers and more maps strewn about, the couch I mentioned previous, a small makeshift kitchen with a stove(if you wanted to call the Jimmy-rigged Coleman gas grill and microwave that) and a small bathroom and wash area sectioned off by only a black rubber shower curtain. The floor was covered in old, ripped up, stapled on carpet chunks to make the otherwise wooden floor tolerable for long shifts and the walls were a grainy, yellow stained white paint.

I let out a sigh as I realized that this was my living quarters, my post for the duration of summer.

At least I was alone.