The Trailhead

Part 2

The first week was quite possibly the most boring, monotonous week I've ever experienced in my life. A park ranger stopped out once a week and updated a list of jobs on a white board that hung at the back of the living area. He didn't speak much outside of a soft 'good morning' or 'another week begins' but every time he came in, he looked horrified, like he wanted to spend as little time as possible at that tower. And he did just that. As quickly as the man came, he was gone before I could start a meaningful conversation with him. And then, on the third week, he added a task to the whiteboard...

Extinguish campfires!

This time, I stood from my chair at the desk and approached him. When I asked him what he meant he simply explained that 'fire risks were high' and that I would need to 'inform other campers to extinguish their fires immediately'. It doesn't take a genius to figure out why I would be concerned here but for anyone that couldn't figure it out, I had basically just been promoted to 'official Smokey the Bear replacement' or whatever the hell that mascot was called. Now I got to throw dirt and water on everyone's good time making me public enemy number one. I couldn't wait to be cussed out in fact, I looked forward to it. Heck, I figured I'd be chased off with bear mace if I wasn't careful. After the ranger had left and I finished cussing sarcastically to myself, I packed a day bag, checked things over one last time and headed down from the watch tower for three different trails that lead to three different campsites.

The first trail, the Bark Trail, lead to Powderhorn Campground, easily the most popular and well kept grounds in the vicinity. I could smell the smoke already, the thick heavy something that lay over the trails and it made me sick. The heavy fog of the morning air kept the smoke down, like a thin veil covering every living thing around. I turned a corner and came into view of the East end of the campground. There were trailers everywhere. I couldn't tell for certain but I had convinced myself most of the campers would still be sleeping or just waking up. I could smell the faint scent of coffee brewed over campfires or on small, portable devices. A few small dogs yipped uncomfortably, tethered to a tree by a comfy looking padded leash and collar. I said hello and beckoned to them a few times before continuing onward toward the center of the campground area.

There was a large central campfire area with a plethora of sites that had previously burned out. One, however, a larger one, was still burning. Two, middle aged, blonde haired ladies sat nearby. One read a book, and the other roasted a fresh looking wiener over the dancing flames. 'Ladies' I spoke finally, nodding to them with a smile. I explained the new fire ordinances that had just come through and with disappointed looks on their faces they told me it was 'okay'. I took out a collapsible shovel from my gear bag and began scooping up spades full of sand from the surrounding area and smattering them against the flames. Eventually it was extinguished and I collapsed the shovel before excusing myself from the area with one last smile to the ladies.

The more I thought about it, the easier my job seemed to me now that I had been around for several weeks. As I approached the head of the second trail and looked over the generic map that was tacked to a sign post, I found myself more at ease with the idea of snuffing out someone else's fun. The previous ladies had given me no trouble and in fact, had smiled at me while I carried out my duties. Why would the next campsite be any different.

And in fact, it wasn't. I hiked three miles in, made my way through three different rock formations and climbed over a few small natural structures of rock and trees and caves before finally reaching my destination. I found the active campfires, explained myself to the residents of the campground, shook a few hands and went on my way after taking care of business. Once again, I had done my duty and there were no discernable issues. It was a simple commentary about human nature really. The majority of people are just good, kind, caring people and they know you don't mean them any ill will.

The majority of people anyway.

There's always an outlier, always an exception. Unfortunately for me, I was about to meet the exception.

Four of them.

The last trail, Black Sheep Trail, was a four mile trek to the campsite. At least that's what my notes said anyway. The actual map that was tacked to the signpost was tattered and worn to the point of grade school legibility. Even the normally bright red colored trails were smeared and scuffed beyond recognition. Knowing my luck, I'd get lost on my way back and wouldn't make it out in time for shift change.

I had a square red handkerchief that I tore little segments out of to mark my way along the trails that I chose and the paths that I meandered down, taking care to place each chunk of 'dana in an easily visible place and while the map said four miles, I ran out of handkerchief long before the end of the pathway.

The fading sunlight and the rising shadow of night made for an eerie illumination in the woods. I pushed past branches that tried to grab me as I moved and crawled over logs and downed trees that sought to stop my advance at every turn until finally I came to what I assumed was the campsite. Whatever they paid to rent a space on this site was an obnoxious overpricing of that I was sure. The entirety of the site seemed carved out by hand and plow and shovel and bulldozer with tire tracks and cuts into the earth everywhere you'd look. There was only one, single, beaten down, rusted out camper at the far back of the site. At first, I saw nobody else around.

I approached the old camper and tapped hard with my fold out shovel at the front door. Nobody answered. I stood in total silence for a whole minute before finally trying the door again with my shovel. Again, nobody answered but this time, the door slipped open from the latch and I could see inside through a two inch gap in the doorway. A moldy looking couch, dilapidated table and a fridge left open lined the back walls of the camper and stained yellow carpet tried to cover up years of neglect and grotesque treatment.

What I saw next startled me. There, laying in the center of the rundown old camper was a man with with a mangled, bloodied face. Much worse, I recognized the man as a fellow Park Ranger and if that wasn't enough, he wore our signature green and black button down short sleeved ranger shirt and a shiny albeit bloodstained name tag over his right breast pocket.

Snap!

The sound of twigs breaking underfoot echoed from behind me and when I turned I saw three men, large in stature and faces obscured by bloodied blue and white hankerchiefs standing there, not five feet behind me. I stepped down away from the camper, still gripping my collapsible shovel, treating it like my only lifeline. I told them I had 'come to extinguish the campfire' and did my best to explain that it was just for the safety of everyone else camping nearby.

None of them responded to what I told them. They just stood there totally silent with focused stares trained on me. After I finished covering the firepit with sand and dirt, I looked at the trio one last time. I told them 'my work was done' and I would just 'be on my way'.

When I left the campsite, I don't think I had ever run so fast in my whole life. The U.S. Olympic team would have recruited me if they saw me that day. I ran so hard and so fast that I willingly wrapped my arms and body around the bottom pillar of the watch tower when I returned. I climbed each level and suddenly forgot my fear of heights as my focus turned to that of the sight I had just seen. I took out my keys and fumbled only momentarily before getting the door to the cabin open. I entered, locked the door and moved swiftly to a set of communication equipment. I had barely sat down and already I was calling out to any whom would listen.

The frequency was the same that we used for all of our radios and I knew the long rang equipment could easily reach the sherriff's station two miles away in Dunbar. 'Hello' I called out, praying desperately that they would hear me. 'Sherrif Creeny, anyone, there's been an incident'. When I finally got through to someone at the office, Ace Creeny, his nephew, I was told to 'sit tight' and that they would 'send someone out my way within the hour'.

My heart pounded.

It was over...

Except, it wasn't.