Page 5 of Big & Bearded on the Mountain

Three hours later, my preparations are done. I look up and blink. The snow has stopped falling, and the late afternoon sun is peeking through the clouds. My heart flutters in my chest. I have about an hour before nightfall, so if I hurry, I could do a preliminary scouting of the area around the cabin.

I put on my boots and coat, pull a warm hat over my hair, and grab a backpack that I fill with essentials like binoculars, a bird field guide, a water bottle, and some other things I might need.

The snow crunches under my boots as I venture off the trail, deeper into the forest. I’ve spent so many weeks mapping out the exact spots to install my bird feeders that I feel giddy to finally be here. I don’t have time today to do anything except get a feel for the area, but I don’t care. This is exactly where I’m supposed to be. I guess it’s weird that I prefer the solitude of the mountains and the company of birds instead of people, but it’s who I am. I’d rather be myself and be happy than try to adapt to society’s expectations.

As I make my way through the snow-covered trees, I soak in the hushed and serene vibes of the forest. The excitement I feel only magnifies as I reach a small clearing, one of the potential locations for one of my bird feeders. I survey the surroundings, scanning the trees for suitable spots, when a subtle movement catches my eye.

I turn my head slowly, so as to not scare away the animal, and there, perched on a snow-covered branch, is a Gray-crowned Rosy-Finch. The pink shade of its plumage forms a gorgeous contrast with the winter landscape, and I’m in awe.

I fumble for my binoculars in my backpack, not tearing my eyes away from the bird. My fingers graze the edges of the binoculars and I pull them out with the cord. I watch as the bird flaps its wings, and then takes flight. I decide to go after the bird, even though the sun is dipping lower and lower with every passing minute. I should really be heading back to the cabin, but surely a few more minutes isn’t going to make a difference, right?

The late afternoon sun penetrates the snowy layers, thawing some of them and revealing slushy mud underneath. For a split second, I doubt my decision. Conditions like these aren’t ideal. Then again, I want to get a better look at the Gray-crowned Rosy-Finch, and I’ll be careful.

I track the bird through my binoculars, tripping a few times in the process. The beautiful creature lands on a branch and I slowly pull my phone from my pocket for a photograph. I inch toward the bird, and my foot slips.

I look down and notice that I’m standing on treacherous slush instead of a thick layer of snow. I take a few more steps, trying to find some grip, but I’m on the edge of a slope and the ground gives way beneath me.

With a sickening squelch, I slide down. The melting snow and the underlying mud have turned this spot into a mudslide.I flail my arms around, trying to grab ahold of a tree or a bush. Something, anything, but it’s no use. I can’t regain my footing and I slide down the slope, the cold mud and snow seeping through my clothes.

Suddenly, the slope levels out, and I come to a jolting stop. I’m left lying in a mess of slush, my clothes plastered with a mix of snow and mud. Great. Just what I needed. At least I didn’t break any bones, but I did lose my phone along the way. No phone means no GPS map.

I crawl to my feet and look up at the spot where I saw the Gray-crowned Rosy-Finch. I try to get back up there, but the slope is too slippery. Damn. Now what? How will I get back to the cabin if I don’t know where I am?

I decide to take another route. It’s no use trying to get back up the slope. If I go west now, then north again, I should be able to find my way home. Too bad it’s getting dark now, because it would be nice to see where I’m walking.

The last sunrays of the day shine through the trees, teasing me with the last slivers of daylight. I could kick myself for not bringing a flashlight. I decide to take a shortcut through a densely wooded area, but I’m stopped short when my coat catches on something sharp. I veer backward as if someone has grabbed me by the arm and is pulling me back.

My heart stops, and I expect someone to jump me, but no one is around. I peer through the darkness and realize I ran straight into a barbed-wire fence, not a murderer. Shit. The sharp hooks have gone straight through my coat and sweater, leaving me with a gaping tear in my clothes. Tears pool in my eyes. I’m such a fool. I should’ve listened to Brody and not come out here today. What was I thinking? I know better than this.

A shiver runs through me as I think about the wildlife that roams these woods at night. I’m not safe out here, that’s for sure.

I go over my options in my head and realize it’s looking pretty grim for me. I can’t call for help because I lost my phone. Fucking stupid. I don’t know where I am anymore, so who knows if I’m even heading in the right direction? For all I know, I could be venturing deeper and deeper into the woods.

I put my arms around myself to cover up the hole in my coat. The fact that there’s a barbed-wired fence around here could mean that someone used it to fence off their property, right? If that’s correct, then someone must live here.

So maybe, if I screamed really loud, someone would hear me.

If not, then…

Well, I don’t want to think about that yet.

I take a deep breath and then scream for help from the top of my lungs, hoping it’s enough to be found before I get eaten by a bear or freeze to death.

Chapter Four

Brody

“What the hell’s going on with you, Brody?” Owen asks as he grabs his coat, ready to head home now that our shift has ended.

“Nothing. Why?”

He frowns. “You’ve been restless ever since you dropped that girl off earlier. Did something happen with her?”

“Not really. I warned her about the snow today. Told her not to go up the mountain. She said she wouldn’t head out, but I’m not sure if she meant it. She might’ve lied to get me to back off.”

He nods. “Do you want me to stay? I could help you look for her.”

I wave his offer away. “It’s fine. I’m sure she’s fine. I’m overreacting, that’s all.”

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