honor their dead by standing silently mourning the deceased for two days. They must also fast for these two days. Oh what shall we do I wondered, as we bounced towards Willow Meadow. I could not keep my eyes closed all the time now, for the smoke made me cough and sputter. We made it through Broken Fir Gap just ahead of the fire. Oh my goodness, we were heading directly towards the fire.
“Oh Zornova,” I whined. “How shall we ever survive? You can’t just expect to trot through the fire unharmed.”
“Be calm, Blinkers,” she answered, “we will drop downhill soon and follow Stonecrop Creek through the fire. But we must be quick, and we must hold our breaths through the worst of it. So be ready. And you must let me know if my fur catches on fire.
Almost before I could catch my breath, Zornova turned and rushed down the steep slope towards Stonecrop Creek, jumping over fallen trees, swerving and weaving between trees and boulders. I felt some sympathy now for rodeo cowboys as I hung on tightly. Then Zornova shouted “Now!” I gulped in a lungful of air and held my breath. Soon my lungs felt like they would burst and my heart pounded vigorously as Zornova clattered over the rocks of Stonecrop Creek. Zornova stumbled and lurched forward, so I went flying over her neck and horns into the creek. Just as I struggled up onto her back a burning tree crashed into the streambed behind us, narrowly missing Zornova’s hind end. Steam and crackling engulfed us. But Zornova undeterred slogged forward through the shallows of Stonecrop Creek. Both of us were coughing and sputtering as we breathed in the smoke-filled air.
Fortunately, we soon passed from the smoke and flames into the smoldering forest beyond, left charred and black from the fire. Zornova continued following the creek; although it was slow going we could avoid the worst of the smoke. Silence surrounded us. No bird song, no skittering of small feet through the leaves and litter interrupted the quiet. Only rock and barren tree trunks remained to guard our passage. Suddenly the silence was interrupted as a tree crashed down to our right as the roots gave way. After what seemed like an endless ride through the blackened forest, we left Stonecrop Creek, climbed up over Fir Cone Ridge, and headed down again into Willow Meadow. The flames had skipped the meadow, which remained green and normal. But at any moment smoldering embers might be dropped by the wind and the whole meadow could flare up and burn quickly. Skeezer, Rutorina, and seven other skunks could be seen on the far side of the meadow. As we drew closer we could hear their whistle-like chant.
“Skeezer!” shouted Zornova, as we approached the skaggle of skunks.
“Yes, Zornova, what is it,” answered Skeezer, obviously annoyed at the interruption of their sacred funeral rite.
“You must all come at once or there will be nine more skunk funerals to attend. A huge fire is burning out of control, and you must all leave. You have been fortunate so far, as Willow Meadow has been spared, but that could change any moment,” said Zornova, with both authority and control.
As Zornova spoke flames could be seen atop Fir Cone Ridge. The wind had shifted again and would drive the flames towards us. Smoke was already billowing towards us across the open meadow.
“Oh, all right Zornova, but which way should we go?” answered Skeezer. Perhaps the approaching flames and billowing smoke had been more convincing than Zornova’s words.
Before Zornova could speak Menki, the eagle, swooped down and landed on a nearby stump.
“Zornova, there is no time to explain, you must travel up over Spiny Ridge, then go down across the highway,” said Menki, who was almost out of breath.
I hopped down from Zornova’s back. “You don’t need to carry me now,” I said, “I can easily keep up with the skunks.”
Zornova took the lead while I brought up the rear. As you can imagine, it was hard to keep nine skunks moving. Even though we were in great danger from the fire they could not resist hesitating to overturn rocks and fallen branches in search of nuts, pinecones, and other edibles. Soon we were all out of breath from the climb. We looked back only to see that the fire had consumed most of Willow Meadow and would soon reach the base of the ridge we had just ascended. After a short minute’s rest we scrabbled quickly down the other side. Soon we reached a faint trail, which allowed us to quicken our pace. But Spritzer, the youngest skunk, and Skeezer, the oldest, were beginning to tire.
“Zornova,” I cried from the rear of our procession, “Skeezer and Spritzer are tiring rapidly. Could you give them a ride?”
Zornova retraced her steps towards us and then knelt down as the two ungainly skunks scrabbled up onto her back. All of us were now able to quicken our pace. The underbrush became thicker and thicker as we descended the far side of Spiny Ridge. Zornova charged through the underbrush helping to clear the path as we struggled through the tangle of shrubby plants and vines. I could not help but notice that she was bleeding in several places from wounds made by sharp limbs that had pierced her fur and skin. We kept on at this faster pace for what seemed like hours. Then suddenly Zornova halted. It was a moment before we could all catch our breath. Soon Zornova turned toward us and whispered, “Skeezer and Spritzer you must climb down from my back immediately. There are firefighters coming through the trees towards us. We will find a gap between them, but they still may see us, so we must look as we are expected to look. Just over the next small rise is the highway, so no more talking until we cross the highway and are out of earshot of the humans.”
Skeezer and Spritzer dismounted as best they could. Again we headed on through the underbrush. Below us and to our right a squad of firefighters was starting a backfire in an attempt to contain the blaze before it reached the highway. I think two of them may have seen us, so it was good that Skeezer and Spritzer were not bison-back riding. That might have seemed a bit odd, even under the present dire circumstances. People just never give us any credit for our intelligence. We moved on down and over the small rise before Zornova stopped us several hundred yards from the highway.
“Blinkers, you go ahead and find us a good place to cross the highway, someplace where there are no fire trucks or cars,” whispered Zornova.
So down I went following a small streamlet that dribbled merrily down the rocky, brush covered slope. The sounds I heard as I approached the highway did not bode well. As soon as I was close enough I climbed a tree, only to discover a major traffic jam on the highway that stretched out below me. Cars, campers, and vans were bumper-to-bumper, moving southward very slowly. This was not good. How could our tired group of skunks make it across this crowded highway? I looked both south and north trying to find some alternative route. Then I recognized the bridge crossing over the south fork of Spiny Creek, about three hundred yards to the north. That bridge was high enough that even Zornova could fit beneath it. Quickly but carefully I climbed back down from my evergreen perch before I rushed back up the hill to report to Zornova.
“So you see,” I said, breathing rapidly “we must go north, and then go under the bridge that crosses the south fork of Spiny Creek. Even you can fit beneath that bridge, and Skeezer, Spritzer, Rutorina, and the others can avoid the highway, which is just packed with tourists in their vans, campers, and cars.”
“Good thinking, Blinkers,” interrupted Zornova “let’s get going. I will feel much better once we are on the other side of the highway.”
Soon we were making our way beneath the bridge. Zornova had only a couple of inches clearance, but was able to pick her way along the creek as it flowed under the bridge. The honking cars and the sirens made the skunks nervous. They had to be soothed so they wouldn’t raise their tails and spray in response to their fear. Once we reached the edge of the forest beyond the highway we climbed up out of the creek bed. The skunks became calmer, but Skeezer began to complain that his legs ached and Spritzer whined and complained that his paws hurt. The rest of the skunks looked a bit bedraggled as well. It was then
