11 Aug (Mon) A much-needed day OFF. Colin [fellow ranger] left after unhurried late breakfast and I thereafter retired to my bunk with book and kitty. Took three long snoozes between reading sessions. ◦◦◦◦◦ Got woken from the last nap by a knock on the door. Uh-oh. It was Ruth, a woman from Arcata who’s been camped nearby with her husband and nephew these last few days. She informed me that the nephew, Peter, had minutes before been fishing just downriver from the cabin and slipped on a slimy rock. Wearing sandals, his foot slid into a crack and it looked like he’d broken a big toe. Ruth had me follow her across the river to check him out. Tom, the husband, was there with him, the kid clearly in pain. Went and saddled Red and got him back to their camp. I’ll show up there early tomorrow and we’ll ride out together. Ruth and Tom will walk. (Lucky that I have the extra horse.) ◦◦◦◦◦ Two other things worth mentioning: A guy camped up at the head of the meadow stopped by later. One of his horses lost a shoe and he needed nails, a replacement shoe, and tools. Two days straight I’ve busted out shoeing equipment! In my ten seasons, visitors have borrowed my shoeing “kit” three times now—total. ◦◦◦◦◦ The other item is a classic example of ranger mentality. Couple days ago I made a batch of tapioca pudding. Had one bowl left which I was very much looking forward to eating this afternoon. When I went to get it out of the cooler, found two big fat flies in there as well. This has happened before—they can squeeze through a little gap, thanks to the plastic lid having somehow become warped. Anyway, one of ‘em was standing in the middle of my bowl of pudding, looking pretty hypothermic. Grabbed the bowl and blew the fly off but then noticed that the pudding’s surface was liberally and randomly strewn with shiny little rice-grain-shaped fly eggs. Aargh!! Eeew!! But I wanted that pudding real bad so just scraped off half the surface layer/skin with a spoon and then wolfed it down without further thought. Most folks would find this pretty disgusting, I suppose. Not so the ranger. No way I’m throwing this out. Pudding was yummy, mmm-mm!
→ 1 mile → injured backpacker
12 Aug (Tue) This jumbo-sized day began with my alarm going off at 4:15. Did all the things I do every morning (including leisurely tea-sipping and lap-cat-petting) and got to Ruth and Tom’s camp “on time” right at 8:00. They were just striking their tents and I was momentarily a bit peeved that they weren’t ready to roll but it was a frosty morn and the sun wasn’t yet up. Started loading their gear on Valienté as we chatted, no time wasted. (Packing out their gear so’s we could all basically make it to the trailhead around the same time.) Peter was hobbling around, pretty cheerful all things considered. He didn’t appear to be in agony but was certain the toe was broken and wanted out ASAP. ◦◦◦◦◦ I should describe this kid because he was so unusual (even though I’m, ahem, actually writing this almost two weeks after the fact and feel the urge to skip details and “catch up” to the present). So here goes: Ruth, again, is Peter’s aunt. Earth-motherish. Tom is very pleasant and urbane. (They met in Africa where both were doing research of some kind.) Two days ago Ruth turned 40. In fact, this trip’s “purpose” was to climb Tower Peak in celebration of that milestone day. Unfortunately, they didn’t quite make the summit due to a late start and some unspecified difficulty with altitude. ◦◦◦◦◦ Peter is uncommonly adult for someone of fifteen tender years. (Note “adult,” as opposed to “mature.”) He lives near Seattle and is far and away the most ambitious and driven young person I’ve ever met. Very self-assured, articulate, and direct. From his speech and manner, he could easily pass for 18 or 19. Now, this kid has got his whole life charted out. And on a tight schedule, no less. While not so very far beyond puberty, he’s somehow signed on with the Navy’s “Reserve program.” (Don’t really get any of this.) Peter’s plan is to finish his high school-ing at one of their academies, train to become a Navy jet fighter pilot, start college while still enlisted, and give them the required six years of service. After getting out, the Navy will pay for the rest of his college education and he’ll finally finish up with a masters in marine biology and, I suppose, remain in the Navy reserves…forever. Fair ‘nuf. ◦◦◦◦◦ We talked lots on the way out (plus some, yesterday eve). He clearly relishes talking about himself, his plans and many accomplishments. I wasn’t offended by any of this—he’s young and “special” and full of himself. But will admit that, with the visitors, I’m pretty much accustomed to being the “star,“ being relentlessly questioned and pumped for information about myself and my fabulous life. (Read that last with an ironic edge on “fabulous life.”) Peter, on the other hand, was focused on showing me what an awesome human being he was and freely offered up many examples. At one point, he did ask if I liked my job or something to that effect, purely as a requisite social gesture, but I gave a curt reply and he pressed for no more personal information. ◦◦◦◦◦ So I got a number of factual tidbits, dropped not-so-casually, that let me piece some of his story together: Currently, Peter is working towards an EMT certification. Has just returned from Louisiana, where he got his pilots’ license (this, no doubt, a big jump on his peers when it comes to getting into Navy flight school). He plans to parachute out of an airplane on his 16th birthday. Has done some rock climbing and mountaineering…wants to climb Mt. Rainier soon. Very handy with computers (his father is a coder). Rides horses regularly, so nothing particularly novel about being in the saddle. When he asked me if I hunted and I answered in the negative he said, offhandedly, “I used to bow hunt.” I thought to myself, Used to bow hunt? What, when you were eleven? At one point I commented, “Your peers must be pretty impressed by all your accomplishments.” He replied with what I’d already found to be a stock phrase: “OH-yeah,” like one word, heavy inflection on the “oh,” spoken with a tone of smug self confidence. When he was telling his plans for schooling and future career I commented, “Sounds like you’ve got your life pretty well mapped out already.” He replied, “OH-yeah,” and totally missed the irony. I shouldn’t be so critical but being irritatingly superior is obviously a big part of who this kid is. Can’t help but admire such incredible focus and the sheer determination to be extraordinary. But I can easily imagine the pain and misery in store for him down the line…the inevitable humbling that awaits those who have such unchained egos. The life-long quest for more experiences. For further validation. I forsee repeated failures with women, multiple divorces, emotionally damaged children…the alienation of friends and co-workers as he rockets up the ladder, two rungs at a time. The problems and remorse that go hand-in-hand with doing whatever it takes to succeed. Whoever he is, Peter will no doubt have an amazing life. But it’s not too likely that he’ll ever really know himself or learn to go slow and relax; his life will always be full-speed-ahead and he’ll probably die without ever knowing his own soul. End of sermon. ◦◦◦◦◦ We cruised along, chatting most of the way. Met many visitors but didn’t give them much attention. One cool thing: met a couple who’d been at Roosevelt Lake. They were fishing from an inflatable raft when they saw a garter snake with a fish in its jaws. The snake swam across the lake and they followed it to the shore, then watched snake ingest its prey à la “Welcome to the Wild Kingdom.” They were stoked, recounting the story. ◦◦◦◦◦ Ran into Doc, out pruning trees, and remembered to ask him about the little card I’d found the other day attached to several balloons that had sailed here all the way from Marysville [A town north of Sacramento, 125 air-miles away.] (The little card was a sort of pledge that read, “DRUG FREE—THAT’S THE WAY FOR ME!—If you find this card, please send it back to me!” and was signed by an eight-year-old named Carrie before being cast off.) I’d written the name of the grade school in my notebook to show to the Doc, who lives in Yuba City, the town next door, when I saw him next. Told him the school’s name and asked if he was familiar it. Well, he definitely was. Get this: Doc said that his wife, Liz, used to substitute-teach at this school when they first moved to Yuba City! Doc didn’t seem terribly impressed. I found it slightly remarkable. ◦◦◦◦◦ To the pack station and left my charge with best wishes before heading back in. Got home after 7:00. Oh—one last thing: Peter’s plans had changed. After this trip, he was signed up for some kind of Leadership Training (part of his Navy Reserve gig). But now, with his busted toe, he wouldn’t be able to attend and bemoaned the fact that, without this particular training session under his belt, couldn’t “advance in rank” (???) on schedule and would “lose an entire year.” (???)
→ 48 visitors → successful evac → 1 lb trash → 23 miles
©2019 Tim Forsell 5 Nov 2019
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