Note: This was originally posted as a six-part series toward the end of December.

The Adventures of Tex and Fed in the Land of the Murdertrees, and their Escape from Murdertree Mountain

PART ONE:

Sunday Afternoon- Simply Walking To Mordor

I sat alone in the car, watching the sun begin to set around 3 o’clock, and wondered if Fed would return that night. He’d been gone for four hours already, and all I could imagine were the fates which may have befallen him along the 5.6 miles of snowed-in forest road until he could reach the nearest outpost of civilization. I took another sip out of the bottle in which I’d been melting snow, and glanced back the hundred yards toward the bathroom. I decided that if I was going to dare its usage, I would need to go now, as the light would be all but completely gone in another fifteen minutes. Jacket wrapped tightly about me, and scarf nestled snugly around my neck, I climbed out of the car and trudged along the tracks of our failed escape from Cooper Lake. How did we get into this mess? I mused, eyes darting along the treeline for signs of a lupine presence. It seemed like such a good idea on Friday…

Friday Night- An Unexpected Journey

Flor, David, and I had taken the ferry back across the Puget Sound to meet up with my brother and sister-in-law in Seattle to catch up before they took off on their holiday road trip. After a harrowing adventure in the stairwell of their building (which eerily foreshadowed the weekend to come), we decided to grab a bite to eat at the BRGR Bar and talk about the minutiae of our everyday lives, as families separated by time and space are wont to do. It was a short walk to the restaurant, a nice little hole-in-the-wall with amazing hamburgers and laid-back atmosphere. We were seated, placed our orders, and began chatting about our upcoming holiday plans and travels. The last time I had spoken to them, they had intended to leave the following day on their interstate adventure, but had since pushed it back a week. Instead, my brother Fed was heading off into the mountains for a weekend of camping in the breathtaking beauty of the snow-laden Northern Cascades.

A decade ago, I would have jumped in and attempted my own invitation, but I’ve since matured… and married. Adventuresome whims were no longer an option. I voiced my manly consent at his woodsmasculine spirit, and took another sip of my Cider. His betrothed, Inuita, began discussing Christmas arrangements when Fed looked at me and asked, “So, you want to go camping in the mountains with me?” I turned to my wife to ask her permission to abandon her to the care of my family for the weekend while I took off to the deep wilderness for two and a half days of roughing it in freezing temperatures. I anticipated at least some objection, but before my eyes had even locked with hers, she’d said, “You can go.”

“Are you sure?” I asked her in Spanish, “I don’t want to drag you all the way up here, and then just leave, while you’re stuck at home with my family.”

“It’s fine,” she said, “Go. Have fun.”

I was now a little nervous at how easily I’d managed to secure for myself a vacation within in a vacation, and what it might cost me when I returned. “You’re really okay?” I asked again.

“If I wanted to go do something fun, I wouldn’t ask your permission, I’d just go and do it.”

“Really? I mean…”

“Go! Inuita and I will just go and do women things. Like look at men with muscles.”

“Whatever,” I sighed, and took another sip of my Cider. I turned back to Fed. “I’m in.”

We began discussing how woefully unprepared I was to undertake a winter expedition, as I’d only brought clothing appropriate for Seattle weather, not epic slogs through snowbanks to nights spent camping upon mountains. Inuita and Fed had extra gear, however, and as we finished up our meal, we finalized our plans for Saturday, with Tex Batmart being outfitted for survival by his benefactors. It had been a decade and a half since the last time I’d spent an evening out of doors on purpose, and about half that time since Fed and I had hung out for more than just an afternoon. I had permission (and encouragement) from my lovely wife of whom I am most definitely unworthy, and I believe Inuita was at least slightly relieved to send a Red Shirt along on the Away Mission. Fed and I made plans to meet up the following morning under the Viaduct, wished one another Good Evening, and parted company, he and Inuita to their apartment to begin packing for the morning, and myself, my wife, and the Minkey Man returning to the Ferry Terminal, and then on to The Island, where we’d pick up some food for the trip, and I’d attempt to overcome my excitement and get a good night’s sleep. That last part never really came to be.

Saturday Morning- Mist and Shadow

My morning began just shy of 6 a.m., as I gathered up my waterproof backpack filled with camping-appropriate consumables (granola, bottled water, and beef jerky), and willed myself to consciousness. I failed at the latter, but still managed to be ready to leave the house at the same time as my ride, and boarded the 7:05 ferry without incident. I texted Fed, as we’d agreed upon the night before, and let him know that I was on my way, to which he replied that he was running a little behind, and to just go ahead and walk up to his place. I confirmed, then sat back in my seat and sipped my vending machine coffee to watch the lights of Seattle slowly begin to appear through the murky dusk of the miserable predawn morning. It was actually heartachingly beautiful, watching the city of my birth appear in the interstices between the mysticism of magick and the majesty of science, languidly unfurling itself from behind the blinds of fog, and casually coming into existence from within the dream from whence it slumbered.

I could barely contain my excitement as I disembarked the vessel, and began hiking up the inclines of the Emerald City. Here was the adventure for which I’d been longing for years. This was the reason I left work: to live life and write of my survival. Having burned out and run on autopilot for a half-dozen years, I could feel the old me spring suddenly to life. I had no plan, aside from following Fed up a mountain. I remembered the sheer joy of spontaneity, of forgetting to overthink everything, and for a moment, finally living. Upon arriving, I picked up my pack, promised Inuita that we would come back in one piece (well, two…), and walked toward Fed’s car, ready for anything. We loaded up our gear, and headed East, toward the Snoqualmie Pass, leaving behind the worries of banality and facing head-on the promises and possibilities of Tomorrow.

PART TWO: 

Saturday Morning- Into The Misty Mountains

Not too far out of Issaquah, we began our ascent into the mountains and forestal terrain, and were treated to the sights of snow-laden trees shrouded in silken mist. The Interstate was plowed, but there were patchy areas of slush within the lanes, and long shoulders of crystallized precipitation framing the roadway. Fed glanced over and, noting the concern on my face, said that he didn’t know why the hell I looked stressed out, he was the one who was driving in these conditions. I tried to reassure him that his driving was fine, and that the expression which I wore upon my face was merely that which I wore by default. He turned his attention back to the road, while I tried to appear slightly less terrified.

Were my life or freedom to depend upon apparent sincerity or joyous anticipation, I would soon be left without either. I’ve spent my entire adult life in the Mastery of Snark, and my tone now drips sarcasm no matter what the message. Countless times I’ve been forced into confrontation when uttering something contextually sensitive, and missing it by errant tonal intonations. It’s really hard to convince someone that you’re not mocking them, when the only tone of voice with which you are left is that of biting mockery. Combine that with a face of furrowed brow and permascowl, and everyone simply assumes that you’d rather nothing to do with them, and that you’d prefer that they would leave. At least now, as I get older, I am given the benefit of doubt in that people sometimes assume that they may, in fact, actually be on my lawn.

The freeway soon cleared as we descended, and it was then that Fed laid out his Master Plan: we would drive in to the Salmon La Sac Trailhead, and and hike the trail, setting up camp in the sublime witchery of the Pacific Northwest, and spending two nights in the wilderness that had long been missing during my stay in California. I hoped that I would appear to be excited, but I’m sure only trepidation was conveyed. I was a little nervous about a miles-long slog up a mountainside, as it had been years since I’d done any physical recreation regularly, but I was looking forward to spending some quality time with my best friend, brother by choice, the best man at my wedding. We stopped off for some gas and rocket fuel (an entirely too large can of Monster, purchased primarily for its potential as a resealable ashtray), and a few short minutes later, were back on our way.

Past Rosalyn, we drove, and then on through the town of Ronald (home of The Last Resort, a reportedly underwhelming dining experience). The roads were snowy here, but dry, and our Hybrid Chariot handled had no problem making it past the Sno-Park and onto the Forest Roads.

The driving became more difficult as we departed from paved roadways, and we were grateful to see that snowmobilers had paved grooves into the powdery snow that Fed’s car could more easily traverse. Deeper into the forest we drove, ascending and descending elevations more of an obstacle now, as we attempted the deepest trailhead in. But we were finally stopped by wrong turn and an inability to execute a three-point turn in virgin snow. Stalled sideways in the road, we soon were past by roaming bands of snowmobilers, who offered us assistance and a minimum of taunting. With the strength of three kind-hearted strangers (and the leaning mass of Tex Batmart), we got the Subaru turned around, and headed back toward the Salmon La Sac Campground, where we could park and hit one of three trails at the end of which we would pitch the tent and get ready for the falling night.

Saturday Afternoon- Lost In Mirkwood

Fed parked the car, and I set about to combine the contents of the backpack I’d brought with those in the larger hiking-framed pack that Fed had brought for me. After donning the cold weather gear contained within, I shoved, squeezed, and manhandled my foodstuffs, Moleskine journals, and Digital SLR into the empty spaces of the larger pack, and we set off to see which of the hikes seemed more realistic to attempt. We discounted the more advanced route, as neither of us believed that a man of my advanced eld could manage it, but settled on the intermediary trail as a more viable alternative. I could already feel the increased pressure on my legs and back, but decided that it was probably something that I would just have to deal with and get over. Fed popped on his snowshoes and up the trail we headed.

We walked around and up and down, following a barely visible path alongside moss-hung trees with snow-laden branches, and punctuated by boulders that had seemingly been frozen in their eruptions up from within the very earth, and been blanketed as well, as if to lull them back to sleep and peace. Up and around, a twisting trail through mountain forest glory did we travel. I needed more rest stops than I had earlier anticipated, but the fact is that I was out of shape, with shorter legs, and Fed was fit and healthy, wearing snowshoes. Eventually the trail opened up, and we realized that we had crossed a road. While I took a moment to catch my breath and have a smoke, Fed consulted his iPad, trying to discover if we’s somehow lost the trail, and had crossed onto another.

We decided to continue on, finding a trail just a short distance from the road. It crossed over a small creek, which we forded by judiciously stepping on a stone in the center of the flow. And up the other bank we continued until, from about twenty feet in front of me, I heard, “Son of a bitch. I don’t believe it.”

I scrambled up the remaining distance (more like old man shuffling), and then I saw it as well. We’d walked for couple of hours, trudging (well, I was trudging; Fed was gliding like Legolas o’er Caradhras) through the elements, only to arrive right back to where we’d parked the car. We consulted the trail map again, and couldn’t figure how we lost the trail, but decided that it was now too late to give it another go. Luckily for us, Fed had been prepared with contingency plan in place, should we be unable to attain this route. We would head to Cooper Lake, further back toward Ronald, but still nearly six miles into the wilderness. It didn’t appear that anyone had gone out there, so it looked like we have the whole place to ourselves. We loaded the backpacks into the Subaru, and then ourselves, and drove around the Cul-de-Salmon La Sac, on the way to Cooper Lake.

PART THREE:

 –

Saturday Afternoon- The Way Is Shut

We drove back toward Cooper Lake, and were able to pull all the way into the parking lot above the campsite. We negotiated the trail down, hanging onto trees and posts to maintain our balance. Fed made it okay, and I fell only once. Once at the bottom, we realized that we had found our spot. In the way of all wooded campsites, there were wonderfully spacious clearings amidst the stands of trees, with picnic tabled benches just to the side. Just beyond was a trail leading down to the lake, and another, leading deeper into the woods. On all sides, the trees stood in silent watch over the land, their boughs weighed low by massive loads of snow. A light breeze carried in more, dusting the already prodigious shag carpeting of snow in another fine and powdery layer. We set our things down by the bench, and decided to try the trail down to Cooper Lake.

The lake sat not quite frozen, still and silent in the muffled atmosphere which always accompanies a snowfall. We paused for a moment, allowing the scene to take us in, take us away. In that moment, the lake seemed to lose all scale, and the opposite bank seemed just a quick stroll away. Fed must have read my mind, because he looked back at me and said, “Yeah, I don’t know how frozen that lake is. I don’t think I’m going to try it,” and turned to walk back to our camp. “Come on,” he said, “we better get the tent up.” I lingered for just a moment longer, inching down to the (frozen) water’s edge. I felt as though I’d fallen into a snow globe, and was witnessing the moment just after the shaking had let up. I headed back up the path toward our campsite, looking back once more across the lake.

Saturday Evening- Treebeard’s Revenge

We began preparing our site by tamping down the snow in the roughly the shape of the base of our tent. Once we had a uniform surface upon which to lay our foundation, we unpacked the tent, and got to work assembling it. It had been awhile since my last outdoor adventure, so I wasn’t entirely stunned, but I have to say that what we put together was easily the most complicated yurt with which I’d been involved. We set out the base, and then the tent itself. There were stakes and parachutes, and hooks and latches, and an umbrella-like hood to rest upon the top. Within the first zippered door on either side was a vestibule to house our remaining gear, and behind zippered door number two, the sleeping chamber. When I’d gone camping before, there was just the one room, and one zippered door at the front of the tent. If you were lucky, you might have a window. This was not your average outdoors sleeping experience. This was a tank.

We laid out our bedrolls and sleeping bags, setting up for the night, that we might finish in time for dinner before the day succumbed to darkness just as evening set in shortly after four o’clock. We’d decided that we were going to spend the night, and head back the next day, as the conditions could easily worsen, and it might be nigh impossible to get back if we waited too long. I had just pulled out my supply of granola bars and jerky when Fed announced we’d be eating presently, and that he needed my bottled water. I’d been trying to conserve it throughout the day, having only drunk a .75 liters, and was concerned about running out, but I was assured we’d replenish my supply with melted snowpack, and brought it out to Fed.

His setup appeared better suited to the cooking of questionably legal chemicals than of food, but a chill had begun to set into my bones, and I was happy enough to have something hot to eat and drink. He boiled us each up a pouch of Mediterranean flavored Wild Salmon, and prepared some Coffee Flavored coffee for us to drink. The food and drink did their jobs, and I began to feel something other than the freezing cold for the first time in hours. It was a manly sort of moment, having tamed a small part of nature, and enjoying the spoils of a modern approach to an age old diversion. As we were finishing up our dinner, we noticed that the trees had begun to subtly encroach upon us, and that the beauty which we’d beheld in daylight had become something entirely more sinister.

I mentioned this, and Fed responded that there was a character in DOTA 2 called Rizzrack the Timbersaw, who was terrified of trees. He went on to tell me some of his best responses in the game, usually in reference to his mixed hatred and fear of anything arboreal. I laughed, but secretly believed that Fed was tempting fate. Little did either of us know how true that was.

And then the snow began to fall. Not the light, enjoyable drifting flakes that we’d seen for most of the day, but giant bombs launched down toward the ground, having broken free of their branches’ hold. Closer and closer they came. Suddenly the Timbersaw joke didn’t seem as ludicrous after all.

–

We finished up and washed out our utensils, making it to the tent just as the light caress of snow fully transmuted into freezing rain. Our trips to opposite ends of the clearing to mark out respective territories were like a tightrope walk on cannon range. Back inside the tent, I attempted to wring out some of my garments that had been dampened in our travels, while Fed set up a marathon of Friends on his iPad for us to enjoy. The light of day had now completely failed, and the Battle For Fed’s Tent had just begun.

PART FOUR:

Saturday Night- March of the Murdertrees

“The tent will hold,” Fed tried to reassure me, “It’s a Hilleberg.”

“Yeah, but you know there’s a tree practically on top of us, right?”

“The only way anything might kill us, is if a tree actually falls down on us. And even then, the tent will probably survive.”

“Still…”

He turned his attention back to the current episode of Friends playing on his iPad. A loud crash from behind us elicited from Fed a “Safe. Safe. Safe. They’ll never get me in here.”

I had other things to worry about. My socks were now completely soaked, and the condensation in my vestibule was moistening nearly everything else. I’d packed another pair, but couldn’t find them anywhere. I grabbed the head mounted light Fed had so thoughtfully provided me, and once again scoured the outer chamber in search of my one pair of dry socks. I didn’t find the socks, but I did discover my expensive camera was now covered in a sheen of dampness. I quickly grabbed it, and my beef jerky, which, at this rate, was soon to become merely… beef.

“What are you looking for?”

“A dry pair of socks. I could have sworn I had them here somewhere…”

I lifted up the edges of my bedroll, and Fed did the same with his, but still no luck. “Nothing?” he asked, still watching his show.

“No.” I said. I ducked my head back out into the vestibule just in time to hear the boom of a few dozen pounds of snow land less than a foot from my head, and see the frame of the tent dip sharply with the impact, bouncing back just as quickly.

“See?” he said, reassuringly (although to whom, I’m still unclear), “This is a Hilleberg. We’ll be fine.” As if also irritated by his smug demeanor, a sharp crack sounded just above his head. “I am completely sane!”

I laid back in my sleeping bag and munched some jerky before it could fully rehydrate, trying to enjoy “The One with Monica and Chandler’s Wedding.” I didn’t have a pillow, but the sleeping bag had a hood, and a bunched up shirt between it and the bedroll was serviceable enough. For whole minutes at a time we managed to bottle our fear of an arboreal avalanche, and watch some classic Must See TV. Aside from the Murdertrees, today had still been an amazing day, and even though we weren’t waxing philosophical into the wee hours like we’d done when we became friends, it was enough to just hang out with Fed, and share a quiet moment of trust and friendship.

He was the one to convince me to move to California. He was the one to give me the name Tex Batmart. He was the Best Man at my wedding and is the Godfather of my child. He was there at the initial creation of The Vaults of Uncle Walt. In a time where my circle of friends was bound together not by affection towards one another, but rather a common disdain of others, we managed to develop a friendship that has lasted half my life. And though we’ve often lived whole states apart, I still consider him like a brother. Sure, we don’t talk as much anymore, and our emails and texts are few and far between, but when we do get together, we still fall back into a rhythm, and it’s almost like we’re still the same guys who used to stay up all night recording on a 4-Track, just with blown-out knees and Old Man Backs. If we survived the night, I might even tell him all of that.

I went out to have a smoke, and was startled to discover just how dark it was. I could barely make out the nearest trees, and was almost caught beneath another onslaught, managing to shuffle to the side after having felt the telltale shower of snow, and lurching to my left. I extinguished my cigarette, and went back inside the tent. My dry socks were still nowhere to be seen, and I was getting tired. I took off the damp pair which I was wearing and put them in the bag with me, hoping to dry them out with body heat while I slept that night. I turned my back on Friends, and listened to the sound of the freezing rain drumming upon the tent.

I was almost asleep when the bombardments began anew. As the rain continued, the massive clumps of snow hanging precariously above us continued to loosen, aided by gravity and running water. A tree not ten feet from us began to unload, and, unlike the others, did not drop its munitions directly down, but began a run near its trunk, and then strafing directly for the tent.

“Trees. Why did it have to be trees?”

I closed my eyes and fell asleep. A couple more times that night I was awoken by the sound of pounding snowboulders thrown mercilessly by nearing murdertrees, but overall I slept fairly well.

Sunday Morning-  Not quite Lembas

The dawn light began to brighten the tent around me, and one of the first things I noticed was how damp the inner chamber of the tent had become. It was then that I realized that we had survived the night. Slowly Fed and I transitioned into something akin to consciousness, and soon plans were made for the breaking of our fasts, and the surveying of our encampment. For breakfast we had oatmeal substitute and more Coffee Flavored coffee. I popped outside for a morning cigarette, and saw how the walls of fallen snow that had surrounded us while we slept. Much more, and we would have been trapped, but the Hilleberg held.

We packed away our gear and disassembled the tent, eager to be free of Cooper Lake and its homicidal vegetation. The rain and body heat had melted the snowpack beneath us, and as we packed away the tent, we carried a significant amount of water with it. We didn’t have to pack as well this time, as we were only concerned about getting everything back to the car, and getting back to civilization. The trip back up to the car was bit more precarious, as the ascent was almost entirely slush. But we’d had enough of The Land of the Murdertrees. We loaded everything into the car and said goodbye to the woods which would have claimed us.

It may have been a tad premature…

PART FIVE:

Sunday Morning- You Shall Not Pass

The snow about the car wasn’t much higher than it had been the afternoon before, but the rain had deprived it of its crunchy, tire propelling properties, and replaced them with something altogether slushier. Fed tried to pull the car forward, but the snow began accumulating underneath the chassis, causing the wheels to spin wildly, but getting us nowhere. Reverse also failed, for much the same reason. I looked around the treeline surrounding us, imagining the echoes of laughter as the murdertrees realized their final revenge. Fed shut off the car, stepped back outside, and walked around to open the trunk. He pulled out the folding shovel, and handed it to me. “Time to dig,” he said.

We took turns scraping out slush from beneath the poor Subaru, trying to make a track on which the vehicle could run. Every so often, Fed would jump back inside and give it a go, hoping that we’d cleared enough to escape. We moved our attack from under the car to a space diagonally behind, clearing a spot for the car to back into. My strength was soon failing, as years of neglect and yesterday’s exercise conspired against me. But we got a zone cleared, and the time now had come for all or for nothing. I stood a few yards away as a measure of protection, in case Fed lost control, and I needed to jump out of the way. It took a few tries, but he righted the car, and though stopped once again, it was pointed the right way.

Fed grabbed his snowshoes and walked down the road, compacting a track that he might hope to navigate. I spent my time digging out under the car, near the wheels for a start, and then clearing as much as I could underneath. I managed the driver’s side as best as I could, but the passenger side soon grew beyond me. When I’d done all I could, I sat down down inside, thawing a drink of snow in my mouth. I saw Fed appear a little while later, still looking healthy, but touched by exhaustion. He cleared out a little more snow from beneath, and decided to give our escape one more shot. For the best chance of success, I would be staying outside, as we hoped lightening the load would make for easier going. From inside the car, he relayed to me, “If I can get some momentum, I’m just going to keep going. You’ll just have to catch up a bit further down.” I nodded and trudged to a safe rooting distance, just in case he began spinning toward me.

The tracks in the snow seemed to have been the answer, and he got the car moving along the path he’d stamped out. I watched my salvation pull slowly away from me before moving forward and giving pursuit. It looks like he’s got it, I thought to myself as I watched Fed and the Subaru gradually increase the distance between us. I did what I could to pick up my pace, as I couldn’t be sure when he might need to stop, and couldn’t chance having to walk back to the town. I crashed through the snow, doing my best to keep jogging, but could only sustain that pace for a minute. As my lungs began staging a walk-out protest, I saw the car slow and then stop in the road still a third of the way from the larger Forest Road. My breaths came in ragged, and my legs were aflame, but I increased my pace to catch up to my friend.

“It’s not going any further,” Fed told me as I arrived at the car, gasping for breath. “I’m going to gear up and walk into town to get us a tow truck.”

“You up for that?” I asked, hoping that he wouldn’t hear the subtext that if I went, one of us might die.

“Yeah, I just need to warm up for awhile before heading out. How much battery do you have left on your phone?”

“It’s down to about fifty percent,” I said, glancing down at his iPhone, uncharged, and now useless. “I forgot to disable the alarm last night, so it was going for a couple of hours before I could shut it off.”

“That should be fine.” He took my phone from me. “I don’t use Android, so you better show me how to make a call on it.”

I gave him a brief tutorial while he was warming up, and he explained after how to start up the car, should the temperature drop. “Try not to run it too much, obviously. But if it’s a choice between that or freezing to death, go ahead and crank the heat.” He looked at me, as if calculating my ability to survive on my own for unknown quantity of time. “You going to be okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” I explained, holding up my (signed) Kindle, “I’ve got-“

“Hey, is it supposed to look like that?”

“Like what?” I turned the Kindle to face me, and saw that the bottom third of the screen was stuck showing the offer that had been there the day before, while the top displayed the last book that I’d been reading. I breathed out a small tirade of dissatisfaction, and fiddled futilely with the now broken device. I tossed it back into my backpack, and in it place retrieved an iPod Classic. “Well,” I said, “at least I’ve got this.”

Too soon he was ready, and it was time to depart. We wished one another luck, and he was on his way. I sat back into my seat, enjoying the warmth of the leftover tropic explosion that had been preparing my brother for who knew how long of a trek through the slow. I selected some Metal, and popped in the earbuds, figuring he’d only be gone until 4, maybe 5. A couple of hours each way (and then, only if he failed to summon out a tow truck), and one way or another, I’d see him again. I scooped some virgin snow into my water bottle, and put it between layers, hoping it would melt. Without really noticing, I began blinking much slower, and then resting my eyes, and then… I woke with a start in now quite chilly car, and glanced at the time to see how much I’d lost.

Sunday Afternoon- Simply Walking To Mordor

I sat alone in the car, watching the sun begin to set around 3 o’clock, and wondered if Dave would return that night. He’d been gone for four hours already, and all I could imagine were the fates which may have befallen him along the 5.6 miles of snowed-in forest road until he could reach the nearest outpost of civilization. I took another sip out of the bottle in which I’d been melting snow, and glanced back the hundred yards toward the bathroom. I decided that if I was going to dare its usage, I would need to go now, as the light would be all but completely gone in another fifteen minutes. Jacket wrapped tightly about me, and scarf nestled snugly around my neck, I climbed out of the car and trudged along the tracks of our failed escape from Cooper Lake. How did we get into this mess? I mused, eyes darting along the treeline for signs of a lupine presence. It seemed like such a good idea on Friday…

PART SIX:

Sunday Afternoon- Fool Of A Took

I picked up my pace as my imagination began populating the darkening shadows with the forest with the slinking movements of wolves out for an easy meal. My legs burned from the continuous pumping, but I breathed a sigh of relief upon reaching the restroom and locking myself within. The light was fading, but there was still enough for me to take care of business. I was a bit disappointed to have been unable to use the woods for this particular endeavor, but preferred disappointment to death at the jaws of wolves. I finished up, and after reassembling my outer protections, left the restroom five minutes later. The world had taken on that eerie glow that oft transpires when the soft and hazy fading light reflects back up and off the fallen snow, and the car looked twice as far away as it had before. I prayed I’d make it back before the wolves could get me, and kept running calculations of the chances of my survival should the pack break cover from behind the dusk and launch themselves toward me. I didn’t feel even remotely safe until I’d made it back inside the car, with doors now locked and heat on full.

Sunday Evening- Shadow and Flame

I finished drinking the water I’d melted, and filled the bottle up once more, ready to trade my body heat for something else to drink. I’d polished off the granola bars, and made a sizable dent in my supply of jerky, and was counting down the list inside my head of all the things that could have befallen Fed. 6:45, and I’d seen no sign of him for over eight hours. I had figured that he’d either have found a tow truck, or failing that, come back here to let me know he wasn’t dead. I stepped out of the Subaru and lit up another cigarette, turning my gaze briefly toward the treeline, and again toward the the direction of the Forest Road on which I hoped that Fed was returning. The night seemed to close around me, and I sucked deep on my smoke, trying to finish and get back to safety. And then I saw it. A light, still some distance away. I ground out the Marlboro in a nearby bank of snow, tossed it in my Monster ashcan, and hopped back in the car to wait.

Twenty Minutes Later…

The headlights finally turned around the bend, and began heading down toward me. I opened the door again, lighting one more smoke, and waiting to see what new development had befallen me. Another five minutes, and a dull red tow truck propelled upon a caterpillar track came to a stop just yards from the front of the car, and Fed popped out from the shadows and rushed past me into the car. The tow truck driver then stepped in between the two vehicles and began hooking the tow line up to the Subaru. I grunted a welcome, and popped back inside the car.

“It’s gonna be really hot in here for awhile.” Fed turned to me, crystals of ice beginning to melt in his beard.

“That’s fine, it’s fairly chilly out there. So what happened?”

“Give me just a few minutes to warm up, and I’ll tell you everything.”

The driver got us connected, and we began our inching crawl out of the wilderness. Fed was driving, focused on trying to keep the car in line with the tow truck, but finally looked over and said, “I am so glad to be somewhere warm.”

“So what happened?”

Sunday Morning- There And Back Again: Fed’s Tale

He told me that he’d walked for the better part of two hours before seeing another soul. Down along the Forest Road, and just across the bridge. Then another pack of roving snowmobilers had come upon him, and offered him a lift back into town. He’d burned through the battery on his iPad, and was happy enough to shorten the journey. A glance at my phone had told him he was still in a dead zone for service, so he jumped up onto the back of a snowmobile and was carried into the town of Ronald, and dropped off just outside of The Last Resort.

The power was out, there and at the convenience store next to it, and my phone was still unable to find a single bar of service. Fed tried over at the snowmobilers’ clubhouse, where at least it was warm, and waited for the power to come on.

The car began fishtailing in the wake of the tow truck, slipping off the tracks and into the snow on either side. The driver hopped out and asked Fed to pop it back in neutral. Fed made the adjustment, and we began moving forward once again. A thick fog of exhaust spewed out from the tow truck as we continued on our way.

The power finally came back on, and the ‘bilers were kind enough to loan Fed the use of their phone. He called up a local towing service and waited for them to come and pick him up. He tried my cell again, and saw just how much coverage I was getting for my monthly mobile payment. The tow truck soon arrived, and he hopped in and directed the driver back toward my location. They reached the turnoff where the pavement ended and began the Forest Road. The driver took a look ahead and called an audible. He turned around and drove them all the way to his shop back in Cle Elum. They were going to need a bigger boat.

The driver loaded a flatbed truck up with the caterpillar tow truck, and they began their return journey. The caterpillar ran about five miles per hour, and it didn’t have a cab; the entire hour and a half journey was spent riding in the freezing cold and breathing in the diesel fumes. No wonder he’d been so eager to get back inside a warm vehicle, enclosed, and safe from the elements.

The driver tried a couple times to let us loose, and we barely cleared any distance before stalling out again, and waiting for him to catch up. But it looked like the path was getting easier to manage, and on the third attempt, we pulled away, and kept moving forward until we reached pavement once more. It took about a half an hour for the driver to cover the distance and catch up to us. We took the chains off of the tires and remembered, with fifteen seconds left to play, that the Seahawks game might still be on. Fed found the game, and we capped the day’s adventure with the sweet relief of hearing that our boys in blue and green just clinched a spot in the post-season with a 35-6 win over the Cardinals. Fed looked over at me and said, “All I want to know is, how did they score 6?”

And so the Adventures of Tex and Fed in the Land of the Murdertrees (and their Escape from Murdertree Mountain) have come to their end. They drove safely back to Seattle, and reveled in the knowledge that not only did they survive the weekend, but their football team survived the regular season.

-Tex