Tales from the Hermitage: chapter one
woodcuts by starchy
Telephone pole size logs were jammed high in the Diamond river, like a giant game of pick-up sticks. The monster spars and masts of the crossing lay mute, dwarfing everything around them. Like creatures from another planet struck down after a terrible battle, frozen in contorted shapes and picked clean by the elements. They lay nest like where they had fallen, casting long ornate shadows, that spread ghostly in all directions in the late afternoon sun.
According to the old mans hand drawn map, this river crossing lay roughly half way between the trailhead and his remote cabin. I had left my truck at first light, with only a couple of brief stops to rest, check my position and adjust my hiking gear. Even with my accompanying compass, topographic map, and GPS, it had taken most of the day to get here. That meant I still had another day of tough wilderness trekking ahead of me.
As I stepped into the clearing from the leafy trail, the sweet repeated notes of a Whip-poor-will greeted me on mint scented breezes. Long purple shadows fell across golden hummocks and dark mysterious pools beckon to me. Secretive Wood ducks courting among the rushes, dissolved into nothingness at their discovery of me. High above on summer thermals, two eagles drifted into a far off valley.
The Logjam was home to many and a refreshing relief from the bugs and claustrophobic madness of the trail. As I surveyed the carnage around me from the latest flooding, it was very apparent that the old man hadn’t been here in quite sometime. Nothing here ever remained the same, and any points of interest he had jotted down had all been washed away.
This was his summer trail and although well marked, it was very difficult in places. Now that I had experienced some of the terrain, I just couldn’t see the old man backpacking here anymore. Things just weren’t adding up, and on an intuitive level I began to wonder if I would ever see the old man again. And I began to have serious doubts about him waiting to greet me at his cabin door?
Although no conditions were ever imposed upon my using the cabin, the Doc made it clear that he wanted the cabin and trail to remain hidden. As far as I was aware, I was the only one that knew of its existence, so I made every effort out of respect to comply.
At the trailhead because of the thick bush, there was never any real worry about being seen coming or going, However, I refrained from using it as a campground, just to be on the safe side. And did all my cooking only while on the trail.
As far as he could tell, the cabin being so remote and hidden had never been found. In all his years prospecting here, did he ever encounter anyone on the trail, nor had his vehicles ever been tampered with. It was becoming clear that he had bequeath title to me months past, without my knowing. After only a brief encounter one lovely afternoon on a northern river.
The spared Fir and Cedar still lining the river after the last flood, stood battered and scared. Deep gouges and missing bark twenty feet high or more on their trunks, spoke of the rivers power. This was a dangerous and terrible place, and I wanted to move on regardless of the gold the old man said I would find here.
As I entered the log field, and began picking my way through the outer scared timbers, a little blur flashed past me. I followed the erratic movements of a tiny Wren, flitting among large lichen encrusted henge stones. The large stones appeared to have once formed the foundation of an immense barn or mill. However, on closer inspection they were only an illusion of mans architecture, as nothing lined up.
A young sapling I had cut for a walking stick, now helped to keep my balance. Spotting a log in the maze, that looked like it safely spanned the rushing currents, I began making my way out to it. Checking for sturdiness I inched my way out, over and under the massive poles. It was dangerous and slow going and having to transfer logs midstream with a heavy pack took much strength and nerve.
Finally I boarded the huge pole that fully spanned the river, although it ran off on a shaky angle toward the opposite bank.
The going was tough as my crossing log was covered in a mumbo jumbo array of crisscrossing logs, that had to be carefully navigated. I was now seven meters above the riverbed. The river was loud here, drowning out all other sounds, which added to the drama. I noticed below in quick glimpses, that I hadn’t even reached the main currents yet.
Reminding myself that a fall on the dry stones below would be extremely serious at this height.
From a jutting yardarm roughly two meters above me, I caught something move in my peripheral. The hairs on the back of my neck bristled and goose bumps riddled my scalp, when I realized that I was staring into the cold indifferent eyes of a mountain Lion.
It was partly in silhouette, and blended perfectly with his surroundings. Lit from behind by the low afternoon sun and belying its evil, its short fur sparkled in a fantastic array of light. It lay outstretched along the log like a contented housecat, flicking a black hypnotic spot on the end of its long tawny tail. It seemed tame and harmless which added to the intensely of the surreal encounter.
This can’t be happening I thought to myself. As fear began shutting down extraneous bodily functions, in preparation for flight or fight. Cold goose bumps migrated up and down my back, while some desperate part of my mind wanted to believe the apparition only a simple exhibit.
But another deeper warrior part of me, knew better. I was so scared that had I a gun, I would have shot it.
It wasn’t stocking me, if anything, I was intruding on it. It must have been well fed, and surly seen me coming for it had a commanding view of the area? Yet it did not retreat nor did it seem frightened or anxious. Which I assume was not their normal behavior. It just seemed content to lay there and watch me. I probably could have, should have, kept going, for the present it seemed as though it had no problem with my nearness or passing?
However, I knew better, as even lifelong bushmen rarely if ever get to see one alive in the woods. And if you do see one its usually a bad sign, because its probably stocking you. In my fear I must have held eye contact too long or broached some unwritten panther code or social order.
Either way it suddenly flattened its massive ears back on its small for its body head, and snarled fanged teeth at me. Accompanied by frightening guttural hissing, that I never want to hear again. At the same instant it stopped its hypnotic metronome tail swishing and began to right itself.
I didn’t know if it was about to leap for me or run? Adrenalin was wildly pumping through me, as I tried to ward off paralysis. I was so sacred that I felt welded to the log. I was panicking, the very thing one should never do in the wilds. Apart from the most hardened of bushmen, everyone does regardless of what is taught. Where hunters stash their fears and stand resolutely calm, before a charging lion is beyond me?
Out of complete panic and wanting to take control, I whipped my walking stick at it with both hands. It leapt straight up into the air with the most incredible reflexes and speed I had ever seen. Everything went into slow motion as the sapling bounced against its perch, but my target was no longer there. Like a boxer ducking long before a left hook comes wising over his head.
The springy sapling hit hard in its middle and boomeranged, gathering speed, bounced directly back at me. The muddy dull end struck me just below the right eye, driving sand and grit deep under my eyelid. Dropping to one knee, and balancing in shock and disbelief, thinking I had lost an eye.
I had little time to react, hearing only the terrible sounds of claws ripping and slashing on bark above me. The wild cat, in its hurry to dodge my stick had been unable to land squarely back on the log and lost its balance and grip. Slipping, clawing like a buzz saw and making hideous screams it began to fall looking for a close place to land. At the same time I was thankfully already wiggling free of my huge pack. A critical instinctive action that I later realized saved my life.
It was a little over two meters above me and a good six or seven meters above the riverbed. As the panther dropped my pack acted as a natural shield as the beast slashed out for something solid. Tucking my neck and head under like a turtle the pack acted like a stepping stone. At the same second that I felt its slashing weight, I lowered my shoulders and arms and tilting to one side jettisoned the huge pack and lion at the same time.
With no solid platform to launch from, it fell hard like a stone with my pack. In its desperation it managed to jabbed a claw into my left forearm just above the bend in my elbow. But the pack took the main brunt of slashing from his massive paws and claws. I winced in pain as it ripped open a large slash but all I could do was hold on as tightly to the log as I could.
In fact apart from all the fuss and fear, it had yet to actually attack me. It had instinctively grabbed for something, anything close, and my pack and I were the only things handy.
I struggled to steady myself on the bridging log as I heard the lion and pack smack the ground below. The sounds although brief were unbelievably terrifying. I didn’t see it hit but I heard the bone crunching whack on the dry stones below.
Hoping it was dead or knocked out I peered over to see it screaming in pain and clawing away with its forepaws and badly favoring a paralyzed looking hind leg. Somehow the pack helped prevent it from righting itself, and it was still momentarily tangled.
I couldn’t see out of my right eye, and when I felt gently around the egg sized lump, I was stunned at how swollen it was. Anger swept in and I couldn’t keep my eyes off the animal, as I search hard for a weapon, anything to fight it off.
I couldn’t afford another encounter with it, I felt my arm swelling and numbing up. With its injury, I needed to act now that I had a distinct advantage. Screaming and growling it fought with the Pack as if it were alive, and in the brief confusion I could see that it was now greatly favoring its hindquarters.
Hearing my scuffles above brought it to its senses, and it tried to bound away. Its damaged, and possibly broken hind leg crumpled under the strain. It insanely began biting at its hind quarters, as if it was fending off another attacker.
As my relief began to grow at seeing it temporary involved with itself and retreating, my stored fear and adrenalin began subsiding. I crawled my way along the log, which again startled it and it began to drag itself away. Reaching the end of the log on the far bank, I slid down the gravel embankment to the river and grabbed a few heavy stones.
I felt a little safer with the stones and the water between us. I had lost sight of it but could still hear it, howling pitifully ahead. I could see my nylon summer pack laying in a shredded heap across the rushing current. Its contents bursting out like a over stuffed Milkweed pod.
Small new growth blocked my view of the predator, as I ran on pure adrenalin, along the wet gravel bar. I tried to follow the sleek animals movements, as I rained down a shower of rocks in its general direction. It was now able to move faster by dragging and flopping useless leg along behind it. I threw another rock at it but missed by miles. Tossing rocks was more of a jester to feel in control, than any attempt to kill.
All along it had been making threatening jesters to its busted leg, like it was trying to scold it back into operation. Or it felt the useless appendage was attacking it?
The shore line on my side of the river ended abruptly at a high sided gravel wall and I could go no further. I stood there in shock and disbelief and watched as it curled in on itself and began a terrible fight with its own hind leg. The pain of the damaged leg and its own teeth must have been excruciating?
I had to act, as there was no way the beast would be able to support itself, and I had a terrible vision of it slowly starving to death. The only humane thing left to do was to kill it. However most of me just wanted away, and I began an internal battle of my own.
For the first time in this dreadful encounter, I began to feel safe. Shaking uncontrollably I knelt by the river, and carefully felt and pampered my swollen eye. All the time keeping an eye out on the tortured, yet fascinating animal. Cupping up cold handfuls of water I rinsed my face and arm in the near freezing stream. One thing I did know was the healing power of cold ice water on cuts, sprains and bruises. And the sooner applied the faster the healing. I was grateful for the close proximity of the river. I could have been miles from water. I was worried about infection and needed to get to my pack.
I kept driving my face and arm into the water, and holding them there as long as I could stand. The water was heaven sent and offered me great relief. I tore off a spongy hunk of moss carpeting a large river stone, rinsing and soaking it in the river. I softly applied it to my eye. It felt cool and healing on my face, I held another crimped softly over the gaping wound in my arm and retraced my steps. All the while trying to keep a visual on the Lion. I climbed and scratched my way back up the steep gravel embankment, and over to my pack.
Crossing back seemed like it took forever with only one good eye and arm. Shimming down through the maze in monkey bar like movements, I reached my pack. I could still hear the pitiful screams of the brute and knew that it was still in the area. I ripped a T-shirt into strips and wrapped my wound after spaying it with an antiseptic. I re-soaked the moss and bandaged my head and eye with it.
Now feeling and looking like Vincent Van Gogh, I was now determined to finish off the wounded lion.
I had to do something about the suffering lion, as anything within a few kilometers could hear its terrible wounded cries. Its screams were piercing, as I began working my way through the mass of logs along the riverbank. I eventually came out to the open and could see that it hadn’t reached the bush line yet. Thankfully it had stopped attacking and biting itself, and it became apparent that it associated its wound with me.
Just as I was building courage to charge it and crush in its head with a large rock, another cat bounded in from the edge of the wood. The wounded cat immediately curled up like a kitten greeting its mother and I realized that they were family. And when they were together I could see that the visiting cat was much bigger than the wounded one.
I had been harassing a yearling kit Cougar and didn’t even know it. There wasn’t any way I could kill the cat now with its mother there. I was terrified by the big healthy mother, especially one defending her young.
I was sure an attack was imminent by a revengeful mother, for she must have known I was there? Keeping low I scampered back to my pack. I had had enough it was time to go. Unclipping a roll of Duck tape I keep outside and handy, I wrapped and bundled the shredded pack in a few precious winds and carefully slipped it back on.
Unreasonable fear was returning in full flood as I was having a horrible time making my way back up to the crossing log. The jumble of tangled logs with the heavy pack on was near impossible in my condition to climb. It kept getting stuck and leaving me feeling vulnerable to attack from the mother cat. At one crazy point I even considered abandoning it. Thankfully I quickly ruled out that notion as positively insane.
Only a final burst of frustrated anger got me back up on the main log. With my imagination working overtime I saw cats behind every bush, which can be a powerful motivator. But I had to take control, and I screamed at myself to smarten up. As I worked my way along the bridging logjam. If anybody had witnessed that scene, they would have thought me absolutely mad!
My fear did subside somewhat in shaky convulsions, after my talking to. Then as if to confirm my unreasonable fears, I saw from my advantage point mother and child disappear into the black bush line. The poor yearling limping and dragging its useless leg in pitiful agony.
The end of chapter one / all gratuities welcomed
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