Summer Hike - Part 5

Bonnie and I are just reaching the edge of the darker forest.  It's much more dense, thick with trailing vines and grass thickets, downed branches tangled around the tree trunks.  The trail goes straight ahead and then disappears downhill to our left.

"Viv-veeeee!" Bonnie yells.  We stand listening.  A long way away is the rushing sound I think is the river.  Sometimes the wind in the pines sounds the same way, hollow and melancholy.

Bonnie and I look at each other and listen.  We hear faint insect noises, the wind, our hearts beating, and our low voices.  I wonder if Vivie is up to one of her pranks.  She's so full of herself today, maybe she's lying in wait.  "You think she's spying on us?" I ask.

"This isn't like her.  My spine's been prickling ever since I heard that sound. I don't like the way this feels.  It's just off.  I'll kill her if I find her.  She should just stop this now."  Bonnie is exasperated but I hear the unease in her voice.

We start into the cool dark shade of the pine forest, walking more slowly so we can pay attention to  sounds.  I look in the powdery dirt for Vivie's bootprints.  She would have just been there about 20 minutes before.  No prints.  Nothing but the dirt.

"Bonnie, I'm looking for Vivie's boot marks.  Can you see very well?  Will you look?"

Bonnie squats down for a minute to look closely at our trail, takes note of our own boot tracks and says, "I think all I'm seeing is ours.  Charm, this is so weird.  Did we miss something on the way?  Like, did she maybe trip and roll down the hill and way off the trail? Vivie is our mountain goat.  She wouldn't do that.  I would do that, but Vivie wouldn't."

There has been no sound other than our talking for the whole time we've been in the dark forest.  No jays, no woodpeckers drumming, no bees.  Dead silence all around.

I motion to Bonnie to follow, slip my hand into my pocket and feel for my knife.  Damn I wish I'd brought the larger hunting knife.  I just have my Swiss army knife.  I'd wanted to save weight, and it was lighter.  I feel spooked and angry all at once.  Vivie's not here, hasn't been here, may be down and hurt somewhere and we have no idea about where.  Damn you, Vivie, I think to myself.

My mind is reeling back to the day we'd met Bob Shorter and asked about the trail.  He had said it was an easy trail and the river would be pretty for a camp, told us about the area and some history, said good luck.  Since we were all fed up with our jobs and needed a weekend hike to get away from the humdrum of office life, we'd lit up about the idea of hiking here on the weekend and being free of everything.  Just us, Triple Threat, having another great hike on our own.  Easy as pie.  We had hiked half a dozen times before on weekend hikes and always been good with each other, never had any more trouble than a blister or two.

"Twobie, we need a plan.  I don't want to be one of those knuckleheads who walks around in circles and never figures out the obvious.  We're toast unless we figure this out first.  It looks like Vivie hasn't been here.  I don't see her footprints.  It doesn't make sense.  She was hiking strong and should have been here, but I have a feeling something else happened back a ways, right?"

"Like what?  She fell?  If she fell, we need to go for help, one of us anyway, and the other stay with her. But, where the heck is she?  When did you see her last?"  Bonnie wipes her forehead with her forearm and looks all around, back up the trail.  She's scanning the hillside for movement.  It's still quiet as a grave in the forest.  Bonnie curses and I see her hands clenching and unclenching.  She's shaking out her hands like she's trying shake off bugs.  It's what she does when she's nervous.

"When we were approaching the ridge, about a quarter mile back from her, and we mooned her, right? Wasn't that it?"  It seemed really long ago now, the fun and hollering.

"Yeah, I think so.  She could have fallen right after that, if she fell," Bonnie says.

"You sure you never saw her after that?" I ask.

"Pretty sure.  I thought I heard the scream down here where we are right now.  Charm, this is ridiculous. We're wasting time.  Let's go back up the trail and check for signs maybe she fell.  It was steep and she could have just gone down and we'd never know it.  We have to at least check."  Bonnie starts up the trail.  I follow.

It takes 15 minutes to get back up to the ridge and we stop.  We find Vivie's last footprint in deep powder but no other sign.  It's about 50 yards down the trail from the ridge crest and we see that the slope is very steep far below, after a steady grassy slope downhill that's studded with granite outcroppings and a few scrub oak.  If Vivie's down there, she's out of sight and we have no idea how far down the hill goes.  It's probably half a mile and looks like there's about a 70-foot drop straight down after the steep downhill.

I check my watch.  4 PM.  A few hours of daylight left.  I look at Bonnie and take off my pack.  She takes off hers and we stare downhill, then back down the trail.

"The best way to get down the hill is on the trail.  We can go down the trail as far as it goes and then double back and bushwhack until we find Vivie down there,"  I say.

"What if she's not down there?"

"Well, she's sure as hell not up here," I growl.  "Best bet is she tripped, fell and rolled.  We'll only find her if we go downhill, too.  Can't see her from up here, so we have to go down there."

We shoulder our packs and go back down the trail once again and head into the dark forest, hearts filled with dread.  Daylight is still strong, at least outside of this heavy woods, so we can possibly find Vivie before the sun goes down and then take care of her until the next day when one of us can go for help.

The trail is heading straight downhill, no switchbacks anymore, and the trail is very rocky.  We have to pick our way down more slowly than we wanted.  What we really wanted to do was pick up a phone and call the sheriff's office and ask for a rescue party to be sent up, but we've only been out here a few hours, so rescue would be highly unlikely.  Until we find Vivie, we are of no interest to the sheriff anyway.

I'm lost in thought for a moment and cease paying attention to little noises.  There haven't been any noises except for our boots scrabbling on the trail and our breathing as we descend the rough hill.

"Twobie, remember the story about this trail; Jim-Jim Trail, right?"  I ask.

"Something about an Indian.  A little kid can't say Indian, so he says Jim-Jim.  Was there a story, too?"

"Yeah.  Bob Shorter told me the story.  It's kind of a weird story.  Not sure if he was pulling my leg because he wants us to get freaked out about hiking or what, but there's this little kid who sees an Indian in the woods around here.  He's a little kid, about nine or so he told me, and he has a really big imagination.  He's playing down by the river where he's been told he should not be playing because it's dangerous. "  I stopped.  I'm thinking about the story and about Vivie and the silence and the river.  I get a chill that stands the hairs on my back up and chicken skin on my arms.