blown in from the coast, then hit the mountains and stopped. The wind pushed the clouds until they filled every nook and cranny of the woods. I was sure the few that made it over the mountains had dispersed, leaving the valley below sunny and warm. From town it would look like huge white breakers flowing over jagged rocks. From here, I was socked in. No hiking up the canyon, no stalking the deer. They would be hunkered down just like me. I could try and hike out if I wanted to fall and break my leg but no thanks. I wasn’t in that much of a hurry to get out of here.
Once, I did try to hike blindfolded. It had heightened the awareness in my feet. I always walked in the woods with my feet, not my eyes. Eyes are for seeing with, not for walking. My feet lead the way feeling the ground while my eyes watch things. I broaden my vision when I hike, taking in the big picture. When I settled into this way of looking at things, I saw deer deep in the forest. I saw movements and irregularities that signaled animals, people, and potential dangers. Most people walk down a trail and all they see is the trail. I see everything else while I follow my feet.
I let Shadow out and pulled back inside. I lit the lantern and started arranging things for a long wait. After a while, Shadow whined outside so I lifted the flap and let him in. His fur sparkled with moisture and the hideout filled with wet-dog smell. I dug out the books, three novels, a sketchbook and writing paper. I found my pocketknife and a hunk of wood I had stashed in a nook last time I was up here. I wasn’t much good at whittling, but it passed the time. I looked at the wood, trying to figure out if I was going for a duck or a dolphin. I couldn’t find any place on it that looked like a tail so I decided it was a duck.
I read one of the novels and packed it into the daypack. I’d take it home and bring one back that I hadn’t read yet. Days like this were precisely why I brought books up here. I ate backpacker food, trail mix, beef jerky. Had I been able to stand I would have paced. Instead I took a nap and ventured out of the hideout when nature called but scuttled back in as soon as possible. Cold was settling in. I wished I’d brought a jacket, but I hadn’t been careful with my packing as my thoughts had been centered on the events of the day. I’d be plenty warm in the sleeping bag but it might be a chilly hike out tomorrow. Day blended into night and night blended into day. I slept off and on, read off and on, and tried to sketch, but couldn’t think of what to draw. Michaels came to mind, but I was never good at drawing people, and wasn’t sure I’d remember his features right. I thought about drawing Jack and was saddened to think I definitely couldn’t remember his features well enough. When I thought of Jack it was his whole body and his face wasn’t clear. In my memory he was always doing something; flying, or driving, or walking through Disneyland, or chopping wood. We had gone camping together, but we hadn’t ventured out in the woods like this. The woods were my world and the sky was his.
I stuck my head out of the flap and it was daylight again. I wondered what time it was, glanced at the fog, and decided it was still morning. The fog was lighter. I could see trees and rocks several yards away. I could hike out today. My mood brightened and I pulled back inside to start packing up. I pulled all the food out of the ammo box and the daypack. I saved one meal leaving the rest in the ammo box for next time. I made sure the book I read was in the pack, rolled up the sleeping bag and stuffed in it a big plastic bag I kept for that purpose. I turned off the lantern, made sure the camp stove was off and cold and put it all back together with its little nest of pots and pans. Pretty soon the hideout was just as I’d found it. I put the daypack on and crawled out the flap and stood, easing out the aches from being cramped up for a whole day. One of these days I would have to dig out the floor and leave more head room in the hideout. The chill air settled around me. The fog teased me. I figured there would be less fog as I lost altitude so I headed down the canyon and trekked off into the woods. I decided maybe I’d follow Shadow down this time. He wasn’t good at rock climbing and I didn’t think rock climbing in the fog was a wise thing to do so I followed along behind as Shadow trotted through the undergrowth.
Shadow got his name because of his black and white coloring, but it was also a name that I could speak without drawing a lot of attention. When we were belly down in a meadow with a herd of deer close by a whispered “Shadow” blended in with the forest. Shadow also tended to follow me everywhere so he was like my own shadow in many ways. He picked his way down the mountain and when he was too far ahead and I couldn’t follow his lead, I’d call out to him. He’d quickly return for me acting as if I sure was a dumb sheep.
Halfway down the canyon the fog thickened again and I couldn’t see the ground in front of me. I started casting around for a place to hole up. I headed for the side of the canyon. I thought I remembered an overhang and an overhang could mean a cave. Wisdom said to stop and wait out the fog. Wisdom also said that if I found the overhang and it was a cave, there would probably be a critter in it. Shadow’s route down the canyon really was easier than mine, so I continued to pick my way along, feeling with my feet, gazing into the white blanket surrounding me. Shadow was the easiest thing to see in the fog because his black fur stood out, but as we walked along his fur became covered with water droplets until he looked like a sparkly ghost. When Shadow came back to check on me I’d swipe the droplets from his coat so I could follow him more easily.
We came to a crevasse where water had worn a trough in the rock. Shadow picked his way down and I followed keeping my hand against the rock wall of the canyon. Suddenly something moved underfoot, a rock turned and I rolled down the trough landing in a thicket at the bottom. Thorns poked when I moved, fog rolled around me, and everything else was still. No bird calls, no rustling noises. I tried to stand and the thorns closed in. I flexed my arms and the thorns bit into my skin. I curled into a crawl and inched out of the torture chamber on hands and knees. The thorns tore at the pack but I fought my way free. I stood up again, scratched and bleeding but whole. I really felt like I should stop and wait out the fog but now I had itchy scratches all over me and all I wanted was a shower. The knee of my pants was torn. The shoulder seam of my t-shirt was ripped. Wisdom is the better part of valor, but misery is better dealt with over a cup of hot chocolate and a toasty fire at home. I’d had my share of miserable hikes but this didn’t need to be one of them. I was going to get out of there and back to my own bed and my old routine. No more carjackers, kidnappers, shooting or fog. I was going home.
I had better luck with the rest of the canyon and when we hit the trail the fog began to thin. The hike back to Creekside was always faster than the hike in because it was almost all down hill. The two miles went by quickly and without mishap. I stumbled down the trailhead and heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of my Jeep.
I turned the rearview mirror so I could see myself and assessed the damage. Oh, man, there was no way I was going back to town looking like this. My black eye had faded a little but now I was covered with scratches from the top of my head to the tops of my shoes. I drove into the little town of Wrightwood, stopped at a convenience store, and bought a hairbrush and a bar of soap. I went to the public restrooms at a park and washed as well as I could in the icy water. My scratches stung like crazy when the soap and water hit them. I washed my hair in the sink until it was blonde again and then dried it with the hand dryers. After much brushing it settled down to a manageable mess. I stepped into a stall to change clothes only to realize I’d left my extra clothes at camp.
As soon as I left the mountains the weather turned sunny and warm. It was windy just like it always is when the clouds are coming in but the chill was mostly gone as I reached the outskirts of town.
I meandered around town until I pulled up to my house. The window was fixed but I saw the yellow tape and my heart suddenly felt heavy again.
I drove to the police station. I’d driven by it thousands of times, but I’d never been in there before. It was a modern gray stucco building located in the center of town. I walked through the double glass doors and approached the counter that filled one wall of a lobby area. I asked to see Michaels and took a seat on a chrome and plastic bench.
After a few minutes I saw Michaels look through the small window of a utilitarian, fake wood door. The door swung open and he strode
