“If we get rain, the trails’ll be slippery an’ the streams’ll overflow, which’ll make it hard to get around. I don’t expect any trouble, but we’ll be in the wilderness, so keep an eye out.” He directed his talk to Joshua and me, likely aware that Dr. Mendez was already familiar with the terrain. I listened to every word, not forgetting for a minute my greenhorn status. I didn’t want to cause any trouble, especially since Ben had arranged this trip at my request, during the off-season.
“We’re not go’n far today,” Pete said. “First camp’s six miles from here, only a few hours ride, but the spot’ll be secluded enough for you to get the feel of things. You can set up the tents, and I’ll cook us up a nice meal.”
Pete, as outfitter and pathfinder, headed the line. Joshua rode behind him and I followed. Dr. Mendez brought up the rear, leading the two packhorses, his duty until tomorrow. “When the trail’s wide enough,” Pete said, “you can ride side-by-side, but on the narrow trails, I want you to ride single file like you’re do’n now.” He turned and looked at me. “Get what I’m saying?”
I nodded. Killjoy.
As time went on, our guide became quite entertaining and, to my surprise, friendly as well. “Check out them rock formations. Pretty awesome, huh? Like they’ve been painted by hand, with all them greens and golds and shadows. Them mountains hold the secrets of time.”
Joshua sat in the middle of the saddle, heels down, chin up, adapting to his new mount with what appeared to be a deep understanding that demonstrated he’d ridden similar terrain many times before. I caught him peering at the bushy habitat alongside our path and wondered what he was looking for. That is, until a convey of quail exploded into rapid flight, with whirring wing beats and calling pit-pit-pit in alarm. His horse sidestepped and whinnied, but a gentle touch from Joshua distracted the horse from the perceived threat.
After we’d ridden several hours, Pete pulled off the trail and motioned for us to follow. We dismounted in a flat clearing on a slight rise near a dense stand of trees; a campsite, according to Pete, located in a spot once used by Native Americans. We unsaddled and brushed our horses, after which Pete set up the camp kitchen and Dr. Mendez and Joshua pitched the tents like pros. I, on the other hand, proceeded to pound my finger instead of a tent stake and trip over one of the tent’s rope supports. When my male companions broke into laughter, I joined in. “Good thing I’ve got you strong, macho dudes to help me, or I’d be in big trouble.”
A supply of logs had already been set up at the site, some positioned around the campfire ring for seating, so all Pete had to do was ignite sticks of kindling stacked tepee-style around a small pile of tinder to get a fire going. No portable potties, so I knew what I had to do, for once envying the men.
As I headed out, Pete warned about poison oak and ticks. “Oh, and I’ve got somethin’ you might need.” With a broad smile, he handed me a roll of toilet paper and a shovel.
I heard laughter as I made my way into the bushes, deciding there were limits to my love of the wilderness.
Later, as we sat around the fire, lulled by the sounds of crackling flames, Pete suggested we scan the trees for birds.
A pecking sound had Joshua pointing at a nearby oak.
“It’s an Acorn Woodpecker,” Pete said.
“How can you tell?” I asked. “I don’t see anything.”
“By the sound,” was his reply. “And if ya get lucky enough to sight an Acorn Woodpecker up close, you’ll see it has a red crown and white forehead.”
He went on to share comical stories about the bird’s habit of storing acorns in trees and poles.
Next, we spotted what Pete described as a Western Scrub Jay perched low and in the open. It was blue and crestless, with a white throat and brown back. We listened to its harsh, nasal kweeah sound and deemed it an extremely noisy bird.
“Prob’ly robbing acorns from the woodpeckers,” Pete said. And so it went, Joshua and I enthralled and the doctor listening politely, making few comments.
Finally, Pete paused, only to continue in a voice meant to convey mystery and intrigue. “Now for the part ya won’t find in Audubon books.” His timing was perfect; it was getting dark, giving way to the sounds of crickets and croaking frogs. “The Red-Tailed Hawk is a large and magnificent bird, once revered by many Red Indian tribes. Its feathers were treasured and used in ceremonies, specially for healing.”
Joshua and I strained forward, the perfect audience for the telling of magical tales with animals as teachers and healers.
Pete spoke in a voice so low it rumbled, “The hawk teaches ya to look and see, specially for ways out of tough situations.”
Then, right on cue, Dr. Mendez joined in, causing me to wonder—at least briefly—if he and Pete had rehearsed their lines in advance. “Messages of the spirit are close at hand but obscured by the obvious.”
Silence followed, except for the pop and crackle of the fire and the steady hum of crickets.
“If ya hear the ear-splittin’ cry of the hawk during a journey, beware,” Pete warned, his voice urgent, his eyes on mine. “Beware of a comin’ event that’ll knock ya off your feet.”
Although he probably shared the same story on all of his tours, it felt like he had composed it especially for me. He was good, a storyteller, keeper of tomorrow, and he wasn’t done. “Or the hawk’s cry might be tellin’ ya to stand tall and show some grit when faced with an unexpected opportunity.”
Although voiced in different words, his message so closely matched Ben’s that the beat of my heart kicked up a notch. A small hand gripped mine, and I tore my gaze from Pete’s. Joshua smiled, and I marveled at his sensitivity. Once again, he had perceived my discomfort.
I glanced at Dr. Mendez, who had apparently noticed Joshua’s action. For a moment, he appeared thoughtful—probably thinking about the interconnectedness of all things as predicted by the holographic model. Then he raised his brows in see-what-I-mean? fashion.
The fire crackled, an owl hooted, and for a while, no one spoke.
“Anyone hungry?” Pete asked.
“Yes,” we all said at once.
🗲🗲🗲
Dr. Mendez conjured up a bottle of red wine and some collapsible wine glasses that popped into shape when he unpacked them.
“What’s this?” I said. “Aren’t we supposed to be roughing it?”
“Using silicone glasses is roughing it,” Dr. Mendez said.
I studied the doctor and realized that I knew very little about him. Was he married? Did he have children? Did it matter? He was a good psychologist, a decent human being, and as farsighted as a hawk. I liked him and wished him well. “This is great,” I said as he poured the Merlot into the rubbery stemless glasses.
“I’ll just have coffee,” Pete said, “and’ll get some soda for the kid.”
Careful not to squeeze the flexible glass too tightly and spill the wine over the top, I raised my drink to the doctor’s in a silent toast.
“May each of us succeed in our quest for clarity,” Dr. Mendez said.
“Amen,” I replied.
🗲🗲🗲
I followed his gaze, feeling smug, certain that little had been disturbed. But when I looked at him for confirmation, his frown told a different story. I scanned the area a second time, attempting to see it through Pete’s eyes. Still, all appeared neat and orderly.
Pete stood and began gathering the meal’s remnants together. I offered to help, but he refused. “No kitchen duty for the one footin’ the bill.”
No complaints from me, especially in light of the delicious sense of listlessness that threatened to root me to the spot.
“Let’s call it a day,” Pete said, which was all it took. Dr. Mendez gathered up the wine glasses and half-empty bottle of wine; Joshua picked up the dinnerware, and I stayed put, sedated by the fresh air and the star-studded sky.
Minutes later, Joshua scampered toward his tent with Gabriel at his heels. Dr. Mendez winked a good night and followed. Without a television, computer, or other such diversions, I, too, was ready to retire.
On the way to my tent, I checked in on Joshua and sensed rather than saw two pair of eyes fixed on mine. I blew a kiss into the dark. Their response, silence.
I buried myself in my sleeping bag, made Princess-and-the-Pea comfortable by the self-inflating mattress below, and although invisible creatures abounded and were certainly aware of our presence, I felt no fear. Pete and Dr. Mendez knew this country and could deal with its dangers. I’d also noticed a rifle attached to Pete’s gear. With these thoughts running through my mind like a steady stream of fence-leaping sheep, I was soon asleep, trusting as a child.