Page 3 of Saved By the Lumberjack
Ash rolls his eyes and adds a heavy sigh.
The ridge has always been famous for its Bigfoot sightings-- recently, we've become the west coast capital for werewolves too.
"She's a folklorist," Ash explains. "Apparently she doesn't actually believe in the things."
The map on the GPS shows a blue arrow where we're standing. A red X marks the map northeast of here.
"That's her camp," Ash says, his finger pointing toward the X. "About a mile into the forest from here. Woods are pretty thick in that area. Channel eleven, and you've got satellite texting. I expect you to be checking in."
By the time everyone else has cleared out, I've got my gear packed.
No one notices me heading out of camp in the wrong direction-- deeper into the woods.
Chapter Two
Ivy
Voices ring out through the woods around me, but I don't answer them.
Instead, I curl up tighter in the cramped space that seems to be working as a hiding place and wait for them to leave.
From the eighteen sixties to the nineteen twenties, there was a rudimentary road that ran through this forest, connecting the mining towns of Moonshine Ridge and Paradise Point on the east side of the mountains.
The forest is dense, but it fills in a natural pass through the mountains, so it was easier to cut through the forest than blast through the rocks.
The timber opportunities were what forged the early business relationship between Brodie McAllister and Anders Jones who saw the long term potential for the timber industry and had the foresight to invest their profits from a couple of moderately successful gold claims into the land they'd managed to secure as part of them.
In the sixty years that the old road was in use, an estimated thirty-some women were reported missing while traveling on it. Most while traveling alone or in small groups. All of them were unmarried.
The road was rerouted in the late nineteen twenties, after a prominent woman went missing, despite being accompanied by a male escort. She was the last straw, and the new road was blasted out of the rock face of the mountains farther south.
That road fell into disrepair shortly after it was completed, when the US highway system began connecting towns by way of more convenient roads running through the flat lands at lower elevations. The old road is now a popular off highway vehicle route.
That's what I know about the area's history. Why they call it the "weeping wilderness;" because of all the tears shed for the missing women-- and by them. Because their disappearances only added to the local folklore, going on to become ghost stories of tearful woman calling for help, luring others to their doom within the trees.
Resting my cheek against my bent knees, I hug my legs tighter to my chest and curse my extra pounds for making it hard to burrow further into the crevice between the massive boulders that are keeping me hidden.
I don't believe in dogmen. I don't believe in Bigfoot, or ghosts; and while I can do the math and come to the conclusion that we probably aren't the only intelligent life in the universe-- I don't believe aliens have nothing better to do than buzz rural earth and abduct humans.
Off in the distance, I hear more voices calling out-- presumably for me-- and my chest tightens with a new wave of fear.
I do believe in humans though, with a keen understanding that they aren't all good.
Two days ago, I was supposed to pack up and head out after an uneventful few nights of camping in the notorious "weeping wilderness."
I'd spent four nights camped alone, with only the sounds of the forest and the buzz of chainsaws from a logging crew I knew was working somewhere nearby. I didn't hear another human voice or see anyone lurking around my camp.
On my last day, I took a short hike to take one last look at the area. I wanted to follow the old road a little deeper into the woods and get a feel for the terrain, mapping out natural features and areas where it would be realistic for people to have fallen or gotten lost.
When I came back to pack up camp, however, I heard something. At first, I thought a bear had found my camp. I didn't want to surprise an animal that might not be happy to see me, so I stopped where I was and waited.
It didn't take long for me to go from cautious, to terrified. I heard voices; two men talking to each other as they went through my things.
I couldn't make out everything they said, but what I understood was enough to convince me that I needed to make sure they didn't find me.
Unfortunately, the old road is the only trail through here and those men were between me and the way back to my car and Moonshine Ridge. I don't even know if the old road is still detectable all the way over the pass to Paradise Point anymore. Even if it is, it's a nineteen mile trek to the other town.
When I looked for a place to sit and wait the intruders out, I fell in a creek. That made enough noise to announce my presence, and finding a hiding place became crucial.
