BIG WILLY a campfire story

BIG WILLY is a story created to be told around a camp fire.

When he walked into a room everyone would stop what they were doing and just stare. Besides being large, he had a presence about him that drew attention like a moth to a flame. He was shy by nature and didn’t like living in an area inhabited by lots of people, which was why he chose to live on Palomar Mountain at a time when darned few people lived there. Occasionally, he would come down the mountain to Escondido to buy supplies, and then quickly retreat to his beloved sanctuary, where he felt secure and at home.

 

His mother named him William, but his size was responsible for the name most people gave him, Big Willy. With massive arms and chest giving way to a narrow waist, Big Willy had the look of a Greek god and mountain man high bred. He had a large, square jaw, two piercing blue eyes stared out from under a heavy brow, and his face was framed by thick black hair. If you didn’t know him you might think he was angry because of his expression, and his immense body unquestionably gave him an intimidating look. Actually, he was a soft-spoken man, and people later would say they never knew of any time when he showed anger or ill will toward anyone. All he wanted was to be left alone on his mountain, where he could hunt and be immersed in nature.

 

Hunting was his true passion. No finer tracker ever lived. It was said that Big Willy could track a raindrop through a cloud. He not only hunted for pleasure, but also out of necessity. What he was able to bag he ate or dried the meat for future use. The pelts, he used for clothing and as a source of income, which enabled him to purchase store goods when he would make his occasional trek off the mountain. During those distant years, Palomar was loaded with game. The native population had been driven to near extinction, through the processes of disease and brutal exploitation, as a result, the wildlife on the mountain had returned in considerable numbers.

 

Palomar Mountain, compared to the Sierras or the Rockies, was usually a relatively benign environment. Even in the winter, Palomar’s climate was relatively mild compared with other mountains of a similar altitude. However, occasionally winters on Palomar could be brutal, with heavy loads of snow, and endless days of cold temperatures. This was one of those winters.

 

Big Willy liked to hunt in the snow; it made it far easier to track game. On nights of full or nearly full moons, the light reflected off the snow making visibility perfect for hunting. The game could be easily seen, and it was still dark enough to get close for a clear shot.

 

This particular night, Big Willy was stocking a small group of mule deer that were hiding in the cover of trees, in a place now called Doanne Valley. The night was exceptionally cold, and the air was crisp and clear. Walking on the crystalline snow created a crunching sound, like biting on fresh potato chips. It took a lot of effort for Big Willy to get a clear shot without spooking the deer. The deer were not panicked, but they were aware of his presence and began to slowly migrate down the sides of the valley towards a small tree covered knoll. Big Willy knew that this was going to be a tough hunt, because of the condition of the snow. Normally, he would have postponed the hunt for another night, but he was low on stores, and he needed the meat. He had also noticed bear tracks the day before, and with luck, he hoped to nab a bear before it left the area.

 

As Big Willy started coming down the far side of the knoll to a place now called French Valley, he could see the deer at the far side of the valley congregated tightly together and nervously stamping their feet. He lay prone in the snow and began the long crawl across the valley floor. Midway, between Big Willy and the deer, there was a large flat area with absolutely no cover. Being aware of the need for camouflage, Big Willy had a piece of white cloth that he placed over his head and shoulders, which made him all but invisible to the deer. He knew that if he was patient, and ever so slowly kept crawling straight toward the deer, he would soon be in range for a clear shot.

 

He could clearly see a large buck standing out in front of the rest; its large, broad rack had at least seven points. Big Willy didn’t care about the quality of the deer’s antlers, what he was after was fresh meat and lots of it. This beast standing before him would satisfy his needs for a long while. Raising his rifle slowly, Big Willy positioned himself for a good shot, while also keeping himself well hidden behind the white cloth. The only thing visible to the deer that was not white was the small round end of the rifle sticking out the front of the cloth. As Big Willy squeezed the trigger, he immediately heard a loud crack. It wasn’t the report of his rifle; rather, it was the sound of the ice beneath him breaking! What he had thought was a flat, barren section of the valley floor, was actually a pond hidden under ice and snow.

 

The shock of being instantly submerged in ice-cold water knocked the wind out of Big Willey, and he also lost his rifle, never to be found. Not knowing how to swim, he was in a state of near panic. Thrashing and scratching at the exposed ice shelf only left him exhausted. He realized that if he didn’t gain control of himself this was where he would die. Panic he knew was the real killer for people that chose to live in the wild. Keeping a level head would be his only chance. Instead of madly clawing at the ice, Big Willy began poking around with his legs looking for anything he might be able to get up on. The freezing cold water was quickly sapping the feeling from his legs, and coordinated movement was becoming almost impossible. Finally, he felt something down below, possibly a rock or fallen log. He was able to stand up on it and get his bearings. Not ten feet away, Big Willy noticed that the snow began to tilt up from the flat surface of the frozen pond. If he could only reach that area, at least he would be out of the grip of the ice and water. Before his strength gave out, he made a powerful leap and slid his body on top of the ice. Immediately, the ice broke through, and Big Willy found himself on the bottom. Holding his breath, he began to feverishly crawl on the bottom towards the shoreline. When he found himself wedged between the ice over his head and the muddy bottom of the pond, he made a violent heave to stand up. He broke through the ice and fell forward onto the edge of the frozen pond.

 

Laying face down on the snowy bank, Big Willy could feel the freezing grip of cold working its way up his feet and hands heading for his warm beating heart. He realized he must do something and fast before the insidious cold lulled him into a sleep of no return. Fire was his only chance. He had a flint and steel in his pocket. The difficult part was finding fuel in this winter environment, especially dry tender. Big Willy staggered to his feet and madly began turning over fallen wood, hoping to find any dry material to get his fire started. After a few minutes of searching, he managed to spot a clump of dry moss on the underside of a fallen tree. He quickly began to gather small twigs and sticks, which he hoped he could then ignite with the tender, and then get larger pieces of wood burning. Drying out his clothes, and warming the core of his body was the only hope for surviving the night.

 

After a half hour of frantic effort, Big Willy had a good-sized fire burning, and the embers of hope began to glow inside his mind. Soon his clothes began to steam, as the heat of the fire evaporated the moisture out of the material. His clothing was mostly wool, which had the ability to shed moisture quickly. The sinister cold began retreating down his arms and legs and away from the vital core of his body. Once he was dry and warm, Big Willy planned on heading back to his cabin on the far side of Palomar. All of a sudden his plans came to an abrupt end as a large load of snow crashed down on him and his fire, leaving him in the dark and cold. He had made a critical mistake while in the clutches of hypothermia. The fire he had constructed was far too close to an adjacent tree. The heat had caused a large amount of snow in the tree to partially melt then fall. It was a stupid mistake for a woodsman to make, and Big Willy felt like a fool. He failed to appreciate the power cold had to befuddle the mind. He was now reeling in a fog of anxiety and confusion.

 

His only hope was to get off the mountain to a lower elevation, out of the snow and extreme cold. Big Willy began to stagger toward Pauma Creek, which he knew to be the fastest way down the side of Palomar. His determined effort to trudge across the snow was helping to warm his stiff joints, and after about an hour of plodding toward Pama Creek, Big Willy could feel his legs and arms begin to loosen up. He was going to need to be somewhat limber, as he negotiated the treacherous path down the steep creek bed, which was difficult to navigate during the summer, and downright dangerous to attempt in the dead of winter.

Big Willy slipped several times on the ice covered rocks of the creek. More than once, he fell directly into the water and gave his body a numbing blast of ice-cold wetness. Once he hit his head on a rock so hard that he almost passed out, which would have been fatal considering his circumstance. Hour after hour he doggedly pushed his beleaguered body towards the base of the mountain. He hoped to run into some Barona Indians that lived in various small encampments at the bottom of the mountain. They had been kind to him in the past, and he was sure they would come to his rescue due to his dire situation. He was now shivering uncontrollably, and again it was becoming extremely difficult just to walk. If he sat down to rest, Big Willy knew he would die, but the desire to just lie down and sleep was at times overwhelming. Luckily, his massive, powerful body was only surpassed by his strong will to live. Step by step he continued to trudge down the side of Palomar. Ever so slightly the temperature began to climb to a more survivable degree, and at last Big Willy found himself at the base of the mountain.

 

No one was in sight. His eyes were starved for the flicker of a campfire, but only darkness lay before him. The only thing he could do was keep walking and hope for salvation. Putting one foot in front of the other, Big Willy continued to plod toward an unknown fate. He had a gnawing feeling that despite the trauma he had already endured, he might ironically still not survive the night. The thought of dying now angered Big Willy, and he forced his body on to spite Death.

 

He wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating or not, but way off in the distance he thought he saw a light, not a fire, but a light that did not seem to flicker as campfires do. At least now he had something to aim for, and he made a beeline in the direction of the light. Fresh hope now invigorated Big Willy once again. After another hour of walking, the light plainly appeared to be getting bigger. What seemed strange was the fact the light was there at all. It was located in a particularly remote area of Pama Valley, where Big Willy believed it to be totally void of human habitation. There was no denying the existence of the light, and the looming structure that Big Willy could see taking form through the mist of the night air. On one hand, he felt encouraged that he might find assistance, and on the other he suffered a deep-seated apprehension, which he could not explain.

 

As he approached, Big Willy could now plainly see a large two-story mansion, which seemed totally out of place in its present location. There was neither a path leading up to it nor any type of landscaping around the structure. It just sat there in the middle of a wilderness, as if it had been dropped from the sky. He walked up the steps to the massive front door and knocked with the last of his failing strength, and then collapsed like a man that had been shot in the head.

 

The next thing he was aware of was lying in a bed covered by a thick, warm blanket. He was alone and exhausted. He could see the rays of sunlight streaming through a lacy curtain hanging over the window. Big Willy’s mind began to race with a flood of questions: what was this place, how did he end up in this bed, why was he feeling this unexplained fear, who or what lived here? Just as this last question raced through his mind, the door to his room slowly opened, and the head of an elderly man poked from behind the door. The man did not speak, but in one hand he held a bowl of steaming hot soup, which he sat on the nightstand next to Big Willy. Before Big Willy could get his wits together, the strange old man was gone. In a cloud of confusion, Big Willy slurped down the soup and then tried to get out of bed. His legs could not hold his weight, and his massive body ended up in a sitting position on the edge of the bed. The strength simply was not there, and he resigned himself to the fact that he was a hostage to the present situation.

 

Later that evening, the old man returned and left Big Willy a meal, and left without speaking. Once again, Big Willy ate the food he had received hoping he would soon reclaim his strength, and be able to leave this peculiar place, and return to his cabin on Palomar Mountain. The night soon surrounded Big Willy in darkness. Much later he awoke because of loud sounds he heard. The noises had an unearthly quality about them. Even later in his life, he was not able to fully describe the terrors he felt that night. It must have been horrific. Big Willy was no fading violet, but whatever happened to him in the old mansion profoundly affect him, and he was never willing to talk about it. People assumed that he must have had some supernatural experiences, or maybe, just hallucinations concocted by his own stressed mind. There was no doubt that Big Willy had gone through a dreadful experience, and could have been suffering from what modern medicine calls “post-traumatic stress syndrome.” No one will ever know what truly happened that night.

 

The next morning, Big Willy found himself lying in a puddle of his own sweat. He had regained some of his strength and felt strong enough to escape this strange and eerie place. After the night of terrifying sounds and images, he knew he could not stay there another night. Pulling himself out of bed, he gathered up his clothes and quickly put them on. The strange old man was nowhere to be seen. Big Willy bounded down the stairs and ran straight out the front door. His plan was to head back to Palomar Mountain, which he could not see yet because the area around him was thickly forested.

 

After an hour or so of walking through the trees, Big Willy came to an open meadow. As he stood in the meadow, he raised his head and there before him in the distance was Palomar Mountain. Looking at the mountain caused Big Willy to be flooded with feelings of fear and dread. He again broke out into a cold sweat. He started to experience many of the disturbing things he had seen and felt the night before in the mansion. When he turned away from the mountain, the terrible feelings vanished, but as soon as he turned back toward Palomar the anxiety and thoughts of doom returned. For many hours, he tried to deal with these unknown demons that were haunting him. Finally, he came to the realization that he would not be able to return to the place where he had spent most of his life. Try as he might, the fear was stronger than he was. Turning his back on Palomar, he headed for San Diego to start a new life.

 

Adjusting to the hustle and bustle of city life, Big Willy found a place for himself in the fishing industry. He liked to be out on the open ocean and regain some of the solitude he had enjoyed on Palomar. Big Willy also found a wonderful woman to marry and had many children.

 

Several years passed, and Big Willy’s place in the world was quite comfortable, and he was happy. By this time, he had several grandchildren. Although he treated his grandkids fairly and equally and loved them all, his favorite one was Willy. Everyone lovingly called Willy, Little Willy. One reason Big Willy was so fond of Little Willy was because the boy reminded him of himself. Little Willy was large for his age and obviously had Big Willy’s features.

 

The boy enjoyed hearing stories of Big Willy’s adventures on Palomar Mountain. Often, Little Willy would ask his grandfather to take him to Palomar and show him his old cabin, and some of the places he talked about in his stories. No one knew the real reason Big Willy had left Palomar. It was ancient history by that time, and Palomar seldom came up in adult conversation. It was different for Little Willy. He loved and worshiped his grandfather, and wanted to experience the places and things his grandfather had. Big Willy would usually come up with some excuse, "My leg is acting up again, maybe we can get up there in the spring.” As Little Willy got older, these excuses met with more and more resistance, and finally, Big Willy relented. Just the anticipation of returning to Palomar after so many years caused Big Willy much concern, and he found himself lying in bed sleepless for several nights.

 

The day came at last, and Little Willy was beside himself with excitement, and Big Willy felt nothing but dread. Only his matchless love for his grandson could motivate him to return to Palomar. They brought three horses, two for riding and one for caring supplies. It took two days to get to the base of the mountain. Big Willy kept his eyes down focused on the ground in front of him. He found that every time he looked up at the mountain, he got twinges of nausea and fear, reminders of that day he left. Slowly, they climbed the trail that later became Nate Harrison’s Grade. Mile after mile went under the horse’s hooves, and Big Willy could feel his sense of doom growing. At last, they arrived at the top and approached Big Willy’s cabin.

 

He had not seen the cabin since the night of the fateful hunt when he had fallen through the ice. The years had not been kind to the place, and it had obviously been ransacked by a passerby. As they approached, the wind began to blow rather fiercely, and Big Willy could feel the winds of apprehension increase inside his mind. Just as Little Willy was about to stick his head in the cabin, a large bow of a black oak broke off and was about to crush the life out of Little Willy. Big Willy reacted instantly. Diving through the air, Big Willy pushed the boy clear and took the full impact of the “widow maker” himself. Despite his large size and powerful body, he was no match for the massive piece of timber, which now lay directly on top of his chest. Little Willy was in a state of shock, seeing his beloved grandfather die right in front of him.

 

Big Willy died instantly there on Palomar Mountain that day. Many people young and old, from all over San Diego County mourned him. To show their respect, many made the difficult trip to the mountain to be at his burial. Big Willy’s coffin was made from some of the wood of his own cabin, and his gravesite is still honored to the present day. No one knows if Big Willy was truly haunted by Palomar Mountain, or was a victim of his own imagination. Everyone that hears this tale needs to come to his or her own conclusions concerning Big Willy. What do you think?