the pack, I stepped on the scale which showed 151 pounds with no water. Setting the pack down I weighed only 116, which left a thirty-five pound difference. That was the best I could hope for. I could ditch the tent but if it rained I’d appreciate the shelter. I could ditch the water purifier but I didn’t want to risk getting sick on a trip of this magnitude.
I battled over my choice in shoes. I preferred hiking in moccasins, but this trail called for hiking boots. Patches of the trail were littered with shale and other sharp rocks. I’d have to cross a few streams and climb a steep butte. Plus, if I ran into trouble my own trail had to be easy to follow, so the hiking boots won.
I couldn’t put my finger on what I was feeling about this trip. I was excited to be on a mission again, but something didn’t feel right about it. Green was experienced in the woods. He’d hiked these trails. He knew the wildlife and understood the necessary precautions. He was physically fit. I knew a single misstep could land him off a cliff, but I couldn’t believe that’s what happened. Possibly it was something else, and I clung to the hope that he had made it past the tourist point and left the trail occasionally. If he left the trail, it would be very recognizable and I’d have clear signs to follow.
I slept fitfully, and 4:30 came way too early. Scenarios kept flitting through my mind. They all seemed to happen a few days down the trail, but I couldn’t figure out why. Something niggled at the back of my mind, which bothered me and yet, in a way, gave me hope. Eventually it would surface, and I hoped it would surface in time.
I showered and blow-dried my hair. No sense in putting on any make-up. It attracted bugs, looked smudged and awful after half a day on the trail, and went down hill from there.
Until I found Green it was necessary to stand out, so I slipped on blue cargo pants that converted to shorts, and a red long-sleeved t-shirt. If he was out there, I wanted him to see me. I pulled on thick socks and hiking boots. The boots felt stiff on my feet after the moccasins but I’d eventually get used to them. They were well-worn older boots that conformed to my feet.
I was arranging things on my dining room table when Michaels rang my doorbell. Letting him in, I noticed a slight tinge of light on the horizon.
“Looks like you’re ready,” he said.
“Yup. I’ve checked and double checked.”
He hefted the pack estimating its weight, looking at me dubiously.
I’d shopped and tried on a dozen packs before I found one that was just right. It suited me and had been my hiking companion for many years. I took the pack from him.
“Are you sure about this? Twenty miles lugging this thing around for a week? I’ve seen part of this trail on the first search, and that was the easy part.”
“Look, you can start worrying about me after a week. If I were just hiking straight through, I could do it in four days. But I told you I need to take it slow. I need to read the sign and sometimes that means spending a long time figuring out what those signs mean. It’s all very subtle, and subtle clues take some detective work. And, if luck is with us, I won’t find him until the end of the trail because that will mean less time spent in whatever situation kept him from finishing the hike. He’ll have gear, food and water up until very close to the end, and hopefully he will still have it when I find him. The more time he spends with his gear, the more likely he’ll still be alive. I have ten days worth of dinners and twelve days worth of breakfasts. I have jerky, trail mix, a couple of energy bars, and water. I can live off the land for a few days if I need to. Been there, done that. I’d pack more food, but more food means more weight. The less weight, the faster I can go.”
He eyed the gun on the table. “You licensed for this?”
“Of course.”
“Do you expect to use it?”
“No, it’s only for self defense. I am going to be hiking through bear and cougar country. I won’t use the gun unless I have to, but I like to be prepared. Would you rather I left it behind?”
“No, you wouldn’t take it if you weren’t comfortable using it. It’s just that a 9mm won’t do much to a bear.”
“By the time I get scared enough to shoot a bear, it will be pretty close.”
“You sure aren’t making me feel any better about this.”
“What would make you feel better?”
I could hear the gears grinding in his head and see the struggle on his face. It was scarier than facing Silva. He was going to cancel the search.
“Let’s go,” I said, first strapping on the gun then shouldering the pack. We loaded it into the back of his dark blue Explorer. I pulled a small cardboard box from the Jeep and brought it along, too. We climbed in and hit the road. I asked him to stop at a coffee shop near my house. The manager and checker greeted me by name. I ordered a white chocolate caramel macchiato and a big piece of New York cheesecake. Michaels ordered black coffee and a zucchini/walnut muffin. We ate on the road. I poked the cheesecake out if its little envelope and ate it like a candy bar.
“Gotta get my cheesecake fix in. I’m going to be deprived for a week.” Michaels pulled off pieces of his muffin and ate them as he drove. “You’re eating your muffin upside down,” I said. This brought a smile to his face.
“How do you eat a muffin upside down?” he asked.
“The flavor all rises to the top, so you take off the wrapper and eat the bottom first. That saves the best part for last.”
“I’ll have to remember that for next time.”
The drive to Piney Point was quiet and I could sense the tension building as we got closer. Michaels’ driving became tighter, and his grip on the wheel was almost white knuckled. He stared ahead, arguing with himself. This couldn’t go on.
Desert scrub and Joshua trees gave way to pine trees and junipers. We stopped at the ranger station on the way and I was glad for the break. Maybe some conversation with the rangers would calm him down.
I hopped out of the Explorer and climbed the steps up to the ranger station two at a time. I waited at the door for Michaels to catch up, then stepped inside.
“Hey, Cassidy! Are you stopping in for a wilderness pass again? Which direction are you off to this time?”
I smiled. This was good news. It was Paul, and he was always issuing me wilderness passes. If anybody could make Michaels feel better about this hike, he could. Paul was short and potbellied. His hair was thinning on top and sprung out at the sides of his head. Hat hair. He stretched the buttons on his ranger uniform, and he was warm and friendly, always cheerful.
“She’s going after Kelly Green,” Michaels said matter of factly. “We’re stopping in to get fitted with radios and GPS.”
Paul looked at me just like Michaels did. Oh, no.
“Aw, no, Paul, not you too! You know I’ve been all over these mountains. I found Thomas Parker when he wandered away from his Boy Scout troop. I brought you a pinecone from the top of Waterman Mountain just to prove that I’d been there. Look, that’s it on your windowsill. I recognize it. It’s split on top and lopsided but it is from the top of Waterman. You’ll dare me to climb a mountain but you don’t want me to hike from Piney Point to Elk Meadows?”
“It’s
