The Camping Trip

An avid camper confronts strange events during a camping trip.

The Camping Trip

 

Anthony P. Rogers

 

Published by Anthony P. Rogers at WritersCafe.org

 

Copyright 2014   Anthony P. Rogers

 

 

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A dark starry sky met Byron's eyes once he opened them.  He was unsure where he was or why he was looking skyward.  Shaking the cobwebs from his head, he rolled over to get back on his feet but a throbbing pain shot through his right shin making him wince.  His arms barely supported his weight, his right wrist almost collapsed.  His head was pounding.  Everything seemed to be hurting.  What happened to me?

 

On his hands and knees, he started crawling in the darkness over rocks and unknown debris unsure of which direction he was heading.  Through the pain, he heard a familiar sound.  It was rushing water.  Why do I hear rushing water?

 

He tasted blood and paused to rub his aching hand across his mouth.  He spat the sour tasting liquid out and tried to make sense out of everything around him.  Running water, rocks, starry sky…none of it made sense but he knew he should get as far away from the water as possible.

 

His breathing had become difficult and he knew he would not be going much further.  Feeling his way in the darkness, he found a relatively smooth spot and he laid there to rest.  That’s when he realized that he was wet.  His clothes were soaked.  How did I get wet?  Another question to add to the others that were swimming in his aching head.  He grunted and moaned as he tried to remember what happened to him.  The soft breeze blowing across his wet clothes made him chilly.  Far in the distance he heard a rumble then a faint thunder clap.  All it took was that sound to spark his memory as he began recalling the events that had taken place earlier that day…

 

*****

 

He had been driving northward on State Route 93 leaving the scorching city of Phoenix behind him.  His destination was Burro Creek Campground just south of the small, sleepy village of Wikieup, a 120 mile drive.  He’d been wanting to take this particular camping trip for years.  He had become an avid camper while serving in the Army and routinely took camping trips around the southwestern U.S. but it was this trip, by far, that fascinated him the most.  He’d driven passed it on numerous occasions and always told himself he would camp there someday.  Well today, that was his destination and nothing was going to stop him.

 

He enjoyed driving on the Arizonan roads as smooth jazz played in the background.  The massive mountains on both sides of the highway were weather-worn, dotted with thousands of cacti and creosote bushes partially concealing the sandy reddish-brown soil underneath.  It was a gorgeous day.  Small cottony clouds floated effortlessly in the brilliant early afternoon sky.

 

As he drove around a subtle bend in the highway, to his left was a vast green mountain that dominated the entire western sky.  The land sloped down from the mountain until is was no longer visible from the highway creating an enormous chasm that seemed to run on for miles.  Majestically rising from the valley floor were steep, rocky vertical walls that interrupted the relatively smooth green fabric of the landscape. It was beneath these cliffs that he assumed the Burro Creek flowed.  Neither the creek or the campsite was visible from the highway and that's what fascinated him. What the hell is down in that valley?

 

Although he enjoyed roughing it during his camping trips, he was okay that Wikieup was only 15 miles north of the campsite.  During his past drives he often stopped at their trading post and picked up any items he needed.  It also had clean restrooms.  The village had a steady stream of visitors since Route 93 was the main highway between Phoenix and Las Vegas.  It had a country-style charm with a few old, abandoned buildings and dilapidated signed along with some original small businesses like Eat-At-Joes BBQ and the Chicago Hot Dog Eatery.

 

He passed the sign for the campsite and maneuvered his large black Nissan Titan into the turning lane.  The entrance to the campsite was unmarked as he drove over a cow crossing guard and proceeded slowly down the unpaved, stony road.  Wisps of dust rose from his tires as the road sloped downward even more.  He remembered bouncing on his seat as he tussled with the steering wheel trying to keep his vehicle on the bumpy path.  The road’s roughness was unexpected and he began to second guess his decision about entering the campsite.  This was the peaceful valley’s first surprise.

 

After a short while, the road smoothed into a dirt laden path covered in tire tracks from previous visitors to the campground. The creosote bushes, stumpy desert mesquite trees, and prickly pear cacti closed in on both sides of the path giving him an overwhelming sense of remoteness.  Rugged walls, strewn with dark, nearly black outcroppings of stones, stood very high, almost vertical, on either side as he descended lower into the confines of the valley.  Could these be the same canyon walls I've always seen from the highway?  Deep ridges and huge cracks dominated the ancient looking structures and he was mildly amazed at how some of the trees, shrubs, and grass grew outward from the rocks adding to the area's olive drab foliage.

 

The valley suddenly began to darken as he continued down the dusty road.  He slowed down just enough to look upwards.  Between the valley walls the clouds had gotten bigger and covered the sun as they traveled across the sky.  The valley looked different now, more foreboding, more dangerous and it unsettled Byron a bit.  Sunlight moved back into the valley bringing it back alive.  Up ahead he spotted some stunningly white jagged boulders line up in a curious fashion.  It must have been man-made and an excellent place to set up camp.  He also concluded that he may be nearing the creek.

 

He drove around a little while longer looking for a place to park his truck for the night.  A small gravel road headed up to a small ridge that overlooked his future campsite.  It was perfect.  He maneuvered his truck into place, jumped out, and secured it.  He opened the compartments in the bed of the truck and removed his gear, slinging it over his shoulder while carrying other pieces in his hand.  The valley had become dark once more as the clouds rolled overhead.  In the subdued light, he was careful to watch his footing as he treaded down the same gravel road he took to park his truck.  As he reached the bottom, sunlight once again streamed into the valley.

 

The sandy terrain at the bottom of the hill felt like a soft carpet and it led directly to the area where the white boulders rested.  The ground amongst the boulders was nice and smooth, a perfect place to pitch his tent.  He enjoyed the luxury of the cooler temperatures as he set up his campsite, feeling a little guilty about the friends he left back in the Phoenix metro area.  He had hardly broken a sweat.

 

With his campsite complete, he couldn't shake the feeling that the creek was nearby.  Like a hawk searching for prey, he scanned the area searching for unexplained voids amongst the rocks and trees.  He noticed a small gap between some shrubbery just a few yards south of where he was standing.  A quick jaunt was all that was needed for him to discover the creek with beautiful, sparkling water, running softly over river rocks that had been worn down by erosion.  A dimple in the side of the creek allowed the water to collect into a small pool that looked very inviting and large enough for him to sit in and enjoy the moment, but he decided to hold off for now.  He couldn’t imagine a more beautiful scene in his wildest dreams.  Those jagged cliffs he'd seen from the road were right above him now.   The only man-made thing that really caught his attention were the two large steel skeletons that towered overhead resembling broad shouldered soldiers wearing overalls.  They were connected at the shoulders by thick steel cables that sagged in the middle.  In Byron's mind, that was the best way he could describe the tall electrical transmission towers that miraculously seemed to blend in with the surroundings.  He noted the position of the towers and filed it away.

 

He was never a big fan of camping near any body of water but he made an exception on this trip.  He knew the northern part of the state had experienced a nice warm spell the last couple of weeks and rain was not forecast for the area.  As the sun peeked out from behind the clouds and with plenty of daylight left, he thought about exploring the area.  Strolling back to his campsite, he grabbed a canteen and set off down a small path that ran along the creek.

 

 The sun shrank from sight once again as the high walls of the valley seemed to cave in over the path.  The air became heavy within the sudden darkness but Byron pushed forward with his trek.  He could make out the footsteps of others that had walked that same path along with the unique arrangement of plant life near the creek.  The gentle rumble of the creek dominated his surroundings adding to its eeriness.  A slither of sunlight fell on one of the valley walls, illuminating the entire area like a new sunrise.  Byron gazed at the sky once more.  The clouds had gotten much thicker.  The white cotton balls had coalesced into enormous cumulus clouds occupying much of the sky.  He wondered if the forecast had changed.  Nevertheless, he was not going to let the lack of sunlight spoil his trip.  He trudged on.

 

Small beads of sweat began dotting his forehead which signaled it was time for him to turn back towards his campsite.  He wished a large cloud would move over the valley to extinguish the heat from the sun but his wish was not granted.  The beads of sweat slowly made their way down the sides of his face and that little pool next the river seemed real inviting about now.

 

That pool was his immediate destination.  He passed his campsite barely giving it any attention.  Ahh, there it is! Not wasting any time, he removed his backpack, shoes, and socks, rolled up his pants legs and stepped in the creek as though he was taking the first steps on the moon.  The lukewarm water flowed freely between his toes and over his feet as he steadied himself on the pool’s smooth pebble floor.  His mind was free.  In a state of pure ecstasy, he closed his eyes, held out his arms to the side, and soaked in the nature that surrounded him.  Now this is the way to start a camping trip.  He continued indulging in the refreshing water until a familiar noise rumbled from his torso and reminded him he hadn't eaten in a while.  Overhead, the sun was in a losing battle of hide and seek with the clouds.

 

Mother Nature had taken its sweet time in this valley and Byron appreciated everything she had done.  He had finally realized one of his most cherished camping trips and now he could cross it off his list.  If only he could bask in its beauty for a few more hours, but the valley had gotten gloomy once again as the sun retreated towards the horizon.

 

He slipped on his shoes and hauled the rest of his gear back to his campsite.  He laid down a small blanket to protect him from the ground and he crouched as he ate a salami, cheese, bacon, and lettuce sandwich.  Also by his side was a can of partially eaten sour cream and onion potato chips and a Coors Lite.  His fine dining experience was accompanied by more smooth jazz from his portable MP3 player.  As he filled his empty belly, he took a last glimpse of the valley as a curtain of darkness fell around him.  Dark gray clouds had encompassed the entire sky.

 

The sound of the trickling creek played in the background as his lantern illuminated the small campsite.  He was sure his campsite was the only light visible for miles.  To help pass the time, he pulled out some magazines, played a few video games on his tablet, and sipped on a couple more cans of beer.  A steady breeze rustled the bushes and joined in with the trickling creek to create a soft melodic symphony of music that Byron couldn’t ignore.  Stopping his activities, he leaned back and listened as the breeze created peaks and lulls in the rustling, all the while the trickling was steady.  Beautiful music.

 

His first yawn surfaced around 10:15 pm and they became more frequent as time wore on.  The effects of the long drive eventually got the best of him.  He put up a valiant struggle against the persistent sandman but it was no use.  He eventually conceded and crawled into his tent, cocooning himself in his sleeping bag, and quickly dozed off.

 

That evening large, powerful thunderstorms pounded the swath of land between the northern city of Kingman and Wikieup, saturating the ground with torrential rains. The typically dusty, dried up desert washes were quickly transformed into muddy, raging rivers. The Burro Creek Campground sat downstream from Wikieup and the brunt of the rainwater was heading in that general direction, scouring the land and scooping up anything that wasn’t firmly rooted into the ground. Dead cacti, creasote, dead tree limbs, and rotted animal carcasses roiled and churned in the water’s chaotic rush to find level ground.

 

Suddenly he found himself being tossed end over end like paper swirling in a strong wind.  A deafening roar peirced his ears along with cracking and crunching sounds.  He tried opening his eyes but the pummeling he was taking knocked the wind from his lungs.  His mind was useless.  In the dark, he felt water rushing into his sleeping bag and began kicking and flailing violently, trying to free himself.  Still being tossed end over end, he managed to free himself from the sleeping bag.  Water was everywhere.  He felt himself spinning in the deluge and somehow instinctively took a breath as his head momentarily popped out of the water.  He couldn’t see anything.  A strong undertow pulled him below the surface once again and he began being pummeled by the debris.  His struggling became more intense as he began realizing how critical his situation was.  His leg slammed into a sharp immovable object and pain seared his brain.   Totally disoriented, he struggled to get more air.  His head emerged from the water and he gulped in the precious oxygen.  He tried focusing on getting himself out of the rushing water but without any light, he couldn’t determine which direction to take.  A large object slammed into the side of his face and broke upon impact forcing his head underwater again. He struggled to return to the surface, arms desperately fighting to find something sturdy.  Just then, his arm was pierced by numerous sharp objects and as he pulled away, he felt his skin being ripped open.  He instinctively pulled his arm upwards and that gave him the momentum to get to the water's surface.  He let out a yell the gods could hear.  His stamina was waning quickly and he knew he could not endure too much more.  Feeling himself being dragged even further, he started moving perpendicular to the direction he was being forced to follow.  Debris continued to tag his body but somehow he found his way to an area where the water had weakened.  With all the strength he could muster, he pulled himself away from the turmoil and moved to a secluded area.  He stayed put trying to regain his composure, gulping in air like a jet engine.  He fell onto his back and listened to the pounding of the rushing water whipping by him along with the swift beating of his heart before everything went dark.

 

*****

 

…He was surprised that he remembered just about everything.  How far had I been swept from my campsite?  How long will I have to stay here, wherever that is?  Through his myriad of questions and excruciating pain, he was able to remember his cellphone.  It was waterproof but did it fall off his belt while he was endlessly tumbling in the churning water?  Once again he tried moving away from the roar of the water.  His disheveled clothes where grimy and his entire body ached with each movement but he still felt fortunate.  Nothing seemed to be broken.  His eyes had adjusted somewhat to the darkness and he was able to make out objects thanks to a half moon hanging high overhead. Large boulders and steep sloping cliffs teeming with cacti and shrubbery where strewn around him.  He located a decent place to rest for a bit and sat down.  It was then that he realized how close he came to losing his life.  He moved his hand along his belt and was relieved that his cellphone was still there.

 

He was unsure if it would work and even if it did, he had no idea where he was.  How could he direct anyone to his location?  He looked around searching for a landmark that could act as a beacon of some sort.  Nothing...absolutely nothing!  He dropped his head backwards in frustration but he managed to catch something that shimmered out of the corner of his eye.  His neck ached as he turned his head to the left and looked.  Well, I'll be damned!  Barely visible in the moonlight, one of the steel headless sentinels stood...an electrical transmission tower.  That could be his beacon.  For the first time since falling asleep, he felt a real sense of joy.  His nightmare could be over if he made his way towards the base of the tower and called for help.  S**t!  I forgot to see if my phone is still working!  His growing excitement sent endorphins rushing throughout his body helping to dampen his pain greatly.  He removed the phone from his belt, turned it on, and placed it to his ear.  After a few seconds of silence, he heard the sweet sound of a dial tone.

 

*****

 

Byron’s recovery was tough, both physically and mentally.  Although his body healed in just over a month, it took him over six months before he thought about camping again.  His shrink told him he was suffering from PTSD and that he needed to overcome his condition by confronting his memories and feelings.

 

Back at home, he kept his body in shape by working out in his home gym.  Byron's lats were on fire as he performed bent over flies with forty-five pound weights.  The buildup of lactic acid increased with each rep until he could take it no more.  The Army taught him the importance of keeping his body strong and he was absolutely dedicated to it.  In fact, it was his strong body that saved his life during that dreaded camping trip and he knew that.  Sometimes during his workouts, he relived some of those terrifying moments.

 

His sessions with the psychiatrist did wonders for him.  He understood the little signs he had missed like overlooking the clouds.  The weather forecast was clear and he remembered how beautiful they were as he drove up to Burro Creek but he overlooked the fact that all the while he was inside the valley, the sun continuously disappeared behind them.  Although he was aware, he never considered the forecast changing.  Another error was his decision to camp near the creek.  He developed a false sense of security about Burro Creek.  It was a fateful decision.  He also understood what he did right.

 

Parking his truck up on the ridge was a good idea although the reason he did it wasn’t for safety.  It was the perfect parking spot for him to keep an eye on it.  If he had parked it near his campsite, it’s quite possible that the rushing water could have started it tumbling down the creek and he may have been crushed.  He was also made aware of his chance observation of the tall transmission towers.  They truly assisted with the rescue effort.  Finally, keeping his cellphone on his hip instead of removing it when he got into his sleeping bag was a godsend. To this day, he doesn't know why he left it on…it tends to poke him while he’s sleeping.

 

Eight months after the Burro Creek incident, he ventured on another camping trip.  One that was fairly easy.  After that successful trip, he performed three more.  Each one more difficult than the previous one.  He was flexing his survival muscles once again and it felt good. He had re-sharpened his skills and his confidence grew tremendously.  However, on occasion he returned to his old habits but refused to beat himself up about it.  He was back to his old self and he moved on with his life.

 

*****

 

Friday afternoon, damn near quittin’ time!  Byron’s dusty white hard hat felt nasty as sweat coalesced around the headband inside.  He just had to remove it for a second.  The pooling perspiration dripped from his forehead and struck the ground like raindrops before quickly evaporating.  Without any shade, he felt the intense heat burning his head and neck and promptly put back his the hat.  Standing atop a ladder, he could see the entire construction project.  One last set of nails needed to be pounded into the last beam.  The ladder shook from the force of his whacks.  He was done and as a test, he tried shaking the beam to determine its sturdiness and it passed.  Before climbing down from his perch, he watched the other contractors running wires, setting conduit, and installing plumbing.  He was happy to be back on the job.

 

It was the hottest part of the day in Apache Junction and every time he inhaled, his lungs felt like two blast furnaces.  He needed to find some shade pretty quick and drink some water.  Down the ladder he climbed.  A dirty white cement truck was parked near the end of the building and cast a nice large inviting shadow.  As he walked towards it, he noticed someone else standing in the shade.

 

He instantly recognized who it was just by looking at their body.  He was short with a nice round pot belly supported by unusually slim hips and legs.  It was Fred Weathers.  His body shape was unmistakeable.  Fred’s wet blond hair protruded from underneath his dusty red hard hat as he leaned against the truck's rear quarter panel.  Byron watched as Fred turned to him, the whitish stubble on his chin clearly visible in the shade.  Fred remained expressionless.  Stepping into the shade, Byron said,

 

"Hey Fred. Damn man, we need some rain down here."

 

"Yep, we're supposed to get some rain soon."

 

"No s**t? When?"

 

"Oh, in a couple of months."

 

Fred’s unexpected smart-a*s remark tickled Byron and he nudged Fred’s shoulder as both started laughing, but Fred didn’t budge.  Both men stood quietly next to one another cooling off and waiting for the others to arrive.  The time for talking would come a little later when their close co-workers would meet up at the bar after work for some male bonding and drinking.  One thing he absolutely enjoyed was Fred’s uncanny ability to weave a tale.  He was a master at it.  He wasn't sure why it made him so happy.  Maybe it was his tough, tank-like appearance or his dry sense of humor.  Whatever it was, his stories always seemed to come to life in Byron’s mind.  Fred was a former Marine and as an Army vet, he respected that.  As soldiers often do, they swapped military stories with one another describing the myriad of situations they found themselves face to face with while serving.

 

Fred turned and said, "Yeah, here they come."

 

Byron saw four downtrodden, sweaty guys heading towards them and he knew the day was about to get very interesting.  Whenever this motley crew were together, anything could happen.  Out front was Curtis Hamm, the youngster of their crew. Byron watched as Curtis’ head bobbed from side to side confidently with each step. He lived with his girlfriend, Janette, in a nice apartment in Gilbert. Curtis’ quick gait was unmistakable and he often left everyone behind whenever they were walking in a group.  He was very smart and brought new drywall techniques to the job but never acted like a know-it-all.  Byron couldn't help but smile as he continued watching Curtis’ head bob from side to side like a ballpark bobble-head toy.

 

A short distance behind Curtis was Gary St. John and Darnell Thompson walking side by side like Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, the life and troublemakers of the crew.  He knew the jokes would begin once Gary arrived.  Gary’s smart mouth kept everyone in stitches but it occasionally got him into trouble if he spouted off to the wrong person.  Luckily for him, the crew was very effective in diffusing most situations Gary seemed to bring upon himself.  Next to Gary was the other black guy in the group, Darnell. Byron considered Darnell more like a brother than a friend. Darnell was an extrovert, the opposite of Byron's semi shut in lifestyle, but he was able to bring Byron out of his shell on many occasions.  Darnell found the bar and after visiting it a few times, invited the rest of the crew to join him.

 

Bringing up the rear was the quiet one, Alvin Reed.  Byron never let his quiet nature fool him.  He was a lady’s man and truly had the gift of gab.  Byron couldn't but envy how Alvin could approach almost any girl and usually get a date or a phone number.  Yes, he was slick, however, there was one thing about him that bothered Byron.  Alvin had a gorgeous and sweet girlfriend and he disliked what Alvin was doing behind her back.  But the unofficial man-code states that he shouldn’t tell her about Alvin’s actions.  He often struggled with remaining Alvin’s friend or spilling his guts to his girlfriend but his kind-hearted nature made either choice extremely difficult.

 

Once everyone had gathered in the comfort of the shade, Byron said "Are we ready to hit the bar?"

 

“Hell yeah we’re ready! I can drink a keg by myself right now!” shouted Gary.

 

“I knew you would be the first one to say something, I knew it.” Byron replied

 

“Of course! I have the taste for a nice cold beer and I want everyone to know it.”

 

“Alright, let me go grab my tools and I’ll meet ya’ll there. Laters."

 

The heat stung as Byron stepped back into the sunlight to retrieve his black metal toolbox at the base of the ladder.  Immediately he knew this would not be fun.  Even with gloves on, that handle was going to be burning hot.  Slightly annoyed, he lifted the heavy box. Sure enough, he could feel the heat coming through his gloves and he began to walk faster towards his truck.  The other guys started heading towards their vehicles. All except Alvin.  Byron saw him staring with a smile on his face and he knew that Alvin was teasing him because he was walking so fast.  Byron just shook his head and kept heading for his truck parked in the front of the construction site.

 

The parking lot was emptying out and he dodged cars as they raced towards the exit.  At the back of his truck, he quickly sat the toolbox down and removed his gloves.  His palms pulsed with pain from the heat and he began opening and closing his fists to get some relief.  After a bit, he put on one glove and opened the truck’s back door which barely made a noise as it locked into place.  He slid the toolbox in, secured it, and carefully shut the door.  His truck was his pride and joy and it showed.  It was, by far, the most stylish vehicle on the construction site and he kept it impeccably clean.  Its cab sat up so high, a small chrome-plated step ladder was needed to climb inside. Twenty-four inch rims supported a lift kit that exposed an unusually clean undercarriage.  The immaculate glossy black paint was littered with minute flecks of silver glitter that sparkled in the sunlight.  Beautifully polished chrome accents highlighted the vehicle.  When the engine was running, its rumble was low and slightly menacing.  For Byron, his truck was a metaphor of himself.  It was big and black, sort of soft spoken, but could be dangerous.

 

*****

 

The bar wasn’t far from the construction site.  Pulling into the parking lot, he noticed that it wasn't quite full and that usually meant it was going to be a fairly quiet get together.  Maybe Fred would have some really good stories today.  He pulled into a spot right up front so he could see his truck through the bar's large front window.  As he climbed down the small ladder beneath the cab, he took a quick look at the Superstition Mountains in the distance, glowing brilliantly with a myraid of colors.

 

As soon as he walked through the door, Fred, Curtis, Gary, and Darnell were already sitting at their usual table with a pitcher in front of them.  Fred waved and Byron made his way over to them.  Just like the cowboys in the old movies, he took a seat facing the window so he could easily see his truck.  Fred had ordered the first pitcher and slid a beer over to Byron who couldn’t wait to take that first sip.  He took a nice long drink. Damn, that’s good! The chilled, stinging bubbles slid down his throat, cooling it off in the most enjoyable way.  As he looked up from his glass, he noticed Curtis looking at him with a stupid smile on his face.  Now, what the hell is he smiling about? As soon as he put his beer down, Curtis spoke,

 

“Hey Byron, I want a truck just like yours but I need to hit the damn lottery before I can afford something like that.” Byron just smiled.

 

Gary spoke up. “Man, there's a quicker way to get the money but I bet you're too chicken s**t to do it.”

 

“Okay smartass, how?”

 

“Go search for that damn gold up in the Superstitions.”

 

“Man, you must be outta you're damn mind!  There ain't nothin' up there but dirt and a lot of misery.”

 

“See, I knew you'd be scared.”  Alvin finally walked in and sat down next to Byron.  He tried catching up on the conversation as Fred poured him a beer.

 

Fred added a serious tone to their conversation, ”Hey Curtis, you've got the right idea. Stay away from those mountains.  They're awfully pretty from a distance but they are really dangerous.”   Ahhh, story time is about to begin Byron thought to himself.

 

Darnell joined in the conversation saying, “So Fred, I've heard some of those stories about gold up in those mountains. What’s the real story?”  Inside, Byron was excited as a school kid.  He'd knew about some of those stories and legends too but couldn’t wait to find out which ones Fred knew.

 

“Ya know, there’s a lot of stories out there about the Superstitions but there’s one thing I know for sure… when people go up there to look for that supposed gold, they die!  Hundreds of people have died looking for the damn gold.  Hell, some people die just going up there to hike.”

 

“Hey, wasn’t there a Dutch dude that found some gold up there? I think they called him Dutchman or something like that.” Gary asked.

 

”Yeah. It’s called the Lost Dutchman’s Mine but the guy they call the Dutchman was really German. Somewheres back in the mid 1800s, a Mexican family came up here and started looking for gold in the mountains.  They got lucky and found some and staked their claim.  One day while they were hauling some of the gold back to Mexico, the Apaches attacked and killed everyone except one guy.  Now somehow that one guy made it back to Mexico and years later, he told this Dutchman where the gold was. I don’t know why he told the guy but that’s beside the point.  Anyways, the Dutchman went up there and he found the gold too but didn't tell anyone. Then, when the Dutchman was on his deathbed, he told his three caretakers about the mine and where to find it. And to add some truth to his story, he kept a box with a small sample of the gold ore beneath his deathbed and those caretakers spent the rest of their lives looking for that damn gold.”

 

“Whoa, and after all this time, no one has ever found it? It seems like someone should have found it by now.” Curtis said.

 

“You would think so, wouldn’t you?  But when people go looking for it, they keep dyin. There are plenty of people that think the whole mountain range is cursed.  You know, I've been up there many times to fish at both Apache and Canyon Lakes but not once have I ever stopped at the picnic area where the path into the mountains begins. There ain't nothin there for me!”

 

“Yeah, I’ve heard stories that those mountains are cursed too.” Alvin added, slightly surprising Byron and everyone else because he actually joined in the conversation instead of going around hitting on girls. “I remember my father tellin' me that the Superstitions were similar to places like Sedona. Ya know, they have these portals that can take you back into time and everything.  All of that psychic crap.  That’s why people keep disappearing.  Ya know, he also told me somethin' else that really scared me when I was a kid.  Let me see.  Oh yeah.  He said there were really strange creatures that wandered around up there and they were responsible for the disappearance of those searchin' for the lost gold.  They were protectin' their homes and all the food and stuff they needed to survive.  It had somethin' to do with an old Indian legend.”

 

Byron interjected. ”You mean like Bigfoot or something like that?” he asked skeptically.

 

“I don’t know.  He just said creatures.  He told me hikers and rescue people found hundreds of skeletons up there.  They had strange markings scratched into their bones and skulls!  I kept imaginin' those things rippin' people apart and it scared the hell out of me!”

 

An awkward silence fell over the entire crew and Byron was mildly concerned about Alvin. Alvin's body language had changed while he was telling his tale and he seemed to be truly scared.  Being as nonchalant as possible, he watched as Alvin lifted his glass and took a nice long swig of beer, seemingly to calm himself down. Byron hoisted his glass and took a drink at the same time, all the while glancing at the faces of each one of his friends at the table, trying to read what was going on in their heads.  Soon his attention focused on both Fred and Alvin. Fred seemed to be the most knowledgeable of the subject and Alvin seemed to be truly unsettled.  Who’s telling the truth?  Both or neither?  Deep down, Byron didn’t believe either of them. He just sat back and listened while the others talked on.

 

Fred took a sip of his beer, cleared his throat, and looked at Alvin. “Yeah. There were some older legends around that came out way before the Lost Dutchman story.  The Apaches had a really strange one.  Alvin, the story your father told you is similar to the Apache legend of the Tuar-tums.  Long, long ago, the Tuar-tums, or Little Indians, lived and thrived down in the Salt River Valley behind the Superstitions using water from the Salt River to irrigate their crops. They were called Little Indians because they were only three feet tall.  They also knew where the gold was.  The legend states that some giant Indians, called the Jian-du-pids, came into their valley and took everything from the Tuar-tums including their gold.  These Jian-du-pids were huge! I mean like Paul Bunyan size! The Tuars tried fighting the Jian off but they were way too big and many of the Tuars were killed. Eventually they were forced to flee underground, in the many caves and caverns beneath the mountains, to live.  They learned to survive and even diverted part of the Salt River down there so they could grow some crops.  Being fearful of the Jians, they always guarded their underground homestead from intruders above.  There were fierce battles whenever the Tuars and the Jians met, and to my knowledge, those battles are still going on!”  Fred ended his story with a short chuckle as everyone else smiled. He continued, “Hey Alvin, maybe these were the creatures your father was talking about.”

 

Gary chimed in, “Man, when you say creatures, the only thing I think of are rattlesnakes and scorpions. You know, like coyotes and mountain lions. All those desert animals that can kill you if you f**k with them.  S**t, that’s their home up there and they’ll probably kill anything to protect it.  I mean wouldn't you protect your home if somebody tried to break in and take your stuff?”  Shaking his head insistently, “Man, there ain't s**t up there for me.  You know, those are some crazy-a*s stories.  Giant stupids, TumTums, and a crazy-a*s Dutch dude.  All them a******s can keep that goddamn gold!”  Everyone started laughing when Gary mispronounced the name of the Jian-du-pids and Tuar-tums. Darnell became so tickled that he inadvertently spit beer out his mouth and that initiated even louder laughter.

 

The distraction from Darnell effectively ended storytelling time and this gave Byron a while to dwell on what was said.  He stared out the bar’s front window as he took another sip of beer.  Far beyond his truck stood the majestic and colorful Superstition Mountains.  A radiant red, orange, green tapestry seemed to glow as the western sun illuminated its craggy face.  Coupled with a deep blue sky, he couldn’t imagine a more beautiful sight.

 

His hypnotic gaze was interrupted by the sound of a wooden chair sliding back from the table.  There goes Alvin on the prowl again.  Darnell spoke the same words out loud, verbatim, and they all watched as Alvin sat next to a very pretty girl at the bar. Damn!  How does he do that?  Byron knew he had the looks and physique to get just about any girl, but he was lacking in the self-confidence department.  Although his self-confidence with the opposite sex was low, he had plenty of it when it came to physical challenges.  Listening to all of the talk about the Superstitions got him to thinking. I bet I can camp up there for a week, no problem.

 

As time passed, the banter amongst the friends began to die down, a sure sign that the bonding was about to end.  Sure enough, Fred motioned for the waitress and when she arrived, they all paid for their drinks and tipped her handsomely.  Slowly everyone stood up and headed for the door, all except Alvin. He remained at the bar talking to that girl.  He’s gonna get caught one day Byron thought as he headed out to his truck.  Outside, some good-natured name calling had begun as they said their farewells.

 

*****

 

The setting sun hovered just above the mountaintops, the Superstitions were ablaze with color.  How could something so incredibly beautiful be that dangerous?  Camping up there for five days would be a breeze and show everyone that nothing strange was up there.  It’s all legends and myths.  Anyway, if something were to happen, I would be prepared for it.

 

At home, he contemplated camping in the Superstitions.  Suddenly bad thoughts of his ill-fated trip worked their way back into his mind.  During therapy, he learned how to focus on something else.  The television remote control was his solace this time.  He switched on the television.  CSI:Miami was on.  He stood and watched it for a while but the storyline was foreign to him.  Hey, this may be a new episode.  As he flopped down on the couch, hunger pangs rumbled deep within.  His appetite would have to wait for the commercial break.  As soon as the first one aired, he popped up and sprinted into the kitchen in search of a nice quick meal.  Nothing in the cabinets, the pantry, or refrigerator.  He was desperate.  His stomach was craving attention.  In the freezer he struck pay dirt.  Four salisbury steak TV dinners were stacked one on top of the other.  That's perfect!   He grabbed one from the freezer and placed it in the microwave.  Its hum drowned out the television.  Are the commercials still on?  He took a quick peek at the television and yes, they were.  Returning to the kitchen, he stood front and center of the microwave watching the timer count down.  At the one second mark, he opened the microwave and carefully removed the tray, allowing the steam to flow by his hand.  He returned to the family room just in time to catch the last few commercials.  His dinner seemed to magically disappear as he became engrossed in the story and finished it before the next commercial break.  He was no longer starving but he still was not satiated.  The next commercial break was coming up soon and as soon as they started, he was back in the kitchen preparing a second TV dinner.  Yeah, this should fill me up.  He repeated the same tasks and returned to the family room to finish the show.  Before the bell sounded, he grabbed the dinner and headed back to the program.  The show ended with an unexpected twist that caught him off guard and he showed his appreciation by smiling and shaking his head.

 

After the show, he began thinking more seriously about that five day camping trip.  What's gonna be my biggest headache?  Water!  He knew hauling water was always the most difficult thing to do.  First, it was heavy and for a five day trip, he would need a lot of it.  He began doing some calculating.  Let's see...if I use one gallon of water each day, I'll need five gallons of water and each gallon weighs about eight pounds.  Damn, that's over forty pounds just for water!  Hauling this backpack is not going to be easy if not impossible!  Then he thought of all the other things he would need...food, cooking utensils, his tent and a sleeping bag, and something to keep him busy for five days.  He estimated that his pack would weigh around seventy pounds!

 

He used Google Maps to find more information about hiking trails at the Superstitions.  He searched all around that enormous mountain range, zooming in and out over and over again, spotting trails and following them to see where they led.  It was confusing and he had difficulty trying to understand the terrain because he could only see it from above and everything was flat.  A side view would give him a much better perspective but where could he find that type of view?

 

He sat back and pondered that question with hands clasped behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.  Occasionally he glanced down at the map then back up to the ceiling, thinking.  How can I really see the terrain?  Why don’t I find some info about others that hiked and camped up there?  They'll definitely have some pictures online somewhere!  He opened a new browser tab and began his new search in earnest.  He was on a mission to find out everything possible about camping up there and he was not dissappointed.  Soon he was inundated with information about the world famous natural resource that was right in his backyard.  Numerous websites discussed the legends and stories, including some of the stories he had heard the guys speak of earlier that evening.  The reviews were even more interesting.  As he studied them, 3-D mental movies developed in his head.  He saw himself hiking the mountain, climbing its steep walls, and descending into its deep valleys trying to reach his desired campsite.  And not far from that campsite would be a breathtaking view of the Phoenix skyline in the distance!  Vivid imagery consumed his mind as the time passed.  The Internet had maps of the trails, pictures of various landmarks, and photos of the people brave enough to conquer the mysterious mountain.  A loud crash from his television broke his concentration and he turned just in time to catch the Geico mayhem guy falling backwards down a flight of stairs in one of this favorite commercials.  He smirked and checked his watch.  Damn, it's that late?  Bookmarking several webpages, he logged out of his laptop and turned off the television.  Before heading off to bed, he tidied up both the family room and kitchen.

 

He drove to work the next morning with the sun blazing brightly through his passenger window.  The Superstitions were shrouded in a dark foggy mist creating a strange silhouette on the horizon.  Even then, they still maintained their splendid mystique.  A beautiful green carpet of flora gently rolled up to its subdued vertical cliffs and spires hiding the rugged terrain underneath.  As usual, Byron made it a point to occasionally glance at the spectacle as he drove.  At times it seemed to be whispering to him.

 

As people were still arriving at the construction site, Byron grabbed his toolbox and headed to the back of the building where he spotted some of his crew milling around.  Darnell was flailing his arms and talking loud telling his tale about some dumb-a*s guy that crossed six lanes of traffic at the last minute to get off at an exit and almost caused a multi-car pileup on Interstate 60.  For Byron and everyone else, this was no surprise because they all knew how Phoenix drivers like to take unnecessary risks.  Some of the guys commented while others smirked and after a few moments, they began working.

 

Perspiration began flowing early this morning as the asphalt heated the site and drinking water was flowing just as freely as the men kept themselves hydrated.  As lunchtime rolled around, the crew gathered at their usual spot in the shade.  Drained from the heat, their  discussions were sparse as each guy stuffed their mouths with their respective meals.  It was during one of those lulls that Byron spoke up.

 

“Hey fellas.  I want you to hear this.”  Nobody was listening.  They were too busy eating.   “I’m gonna do it.”  Eventually, everyone looked at him then looked at each other with puzzled expressions.

 

Darnell managed to say “Do what?” as bits of food escaped his mouth.

 

“I’m gonna camp out at the Superstitions next week.”  Byron looked at his sandwich and took a large bite.

 

He continued eating, waiting for a response from anyone.  The others tried to digest both their food and his news.  After a while, with food in his mouth, Fred spoke up.  “So you wanna camp out in the Superstitions, huh?  You got somethin' to prove?  You think you’re the baddest dude on the planet?  Nothing can scare you?  Or do you just have a death wish?”

 

Byron stopped eating and looked directly at Fred, surprised by his response.  “Naw, I’m not the baddest dude on the planet and I don’t have a death wish but I do have something to prove.  I’m not doing this to look for that damn gold.  I don’t need gold.  I’m doing this because it’s just a mountain.  There’s nothing up there but cactus, trees, bushes and rocks.  The only life up there are snakes, coyotes, and insects.  That’s it!  No giants.  No little people.  No portals to another dimension.  No psychic s**t!  It’s just a mountain where tons of people have camped without anything mysterious happening.  If they can do it, so can I.”

 

Darnell interjected, “Dude, did all those stories get to you yesterday?”

 

“Ya know what?  I guess they did.  They were so ridiculous.  I went on the Internet last night and researched all of that stuff.  All the legends, the hoaxes, the stories.  Then I looked up all the different websites about hiking and camping up there.  All of those people who actually camped up there had a blast.  Nothing strange happened to them!  It’s just an ordinary mountain and I just feel like camping up there!”

 

“Geez, dude!  Calm down!  I didn’t mean anything.”

 

“So you just want to go camping up there for the hell of it.  Okay.  I can see that.  How long do you plan on staying?” Fred asked.

 

“Five days.  I’ll leave on Sunday and come back home on Friday.”

 

“Man, that’s a long time.  What are you going to do for food and water?” Gary asked after swallowing his food.

 

“Well, I’m gonna get some MREs from the prepper store, a few canned goods, and a couple of cans of beef jerky.  I love that stuff!  A few bags of chips and stuff like that.  Water will be the biggest deal.  I’ll have multiple canteens of it around my waist and some in my backpack.  I’ve camped out at other desert places for up to seven days and the water lasted so this will be sorta the same.  The climbing will be the hardest part.  There are some pretty steep cliffs and hauling all that stuff up there is gonna be tough.”

 

Alvin said “Byron, I gotta find you a damn girlfriend quick!”  Hysterics broke out and even Byron couldn’t hold onto his seriousness.  Quickly, the fog of tension began to dissipate.

 

The lightened mood was welcomed and soon he was receiving words of support from the guys.  He expected a little grief when he mentioned his trip but he didn’t expect things would get so serious.  Nevertheless, deep down he wanted, and needed, their approval.  He also needed a real challenge.  It had been some time since he’d done a serious camping trip and he didn’t want to lose his edge.  Plus this was his chance to hike a world famous landmark and disprove those old stories.  Lunchtime continued with hardly any references to his upcoming trip.

 

He polished off his roast beef sandwich and tilted his head back as he took a nice long drink of frigid iced tea from his thermos, savoring every swallow.  That's when he caught Fred staring at him again.  “Is there something wrong?”

 

“Maybe.  You said you're going to do this camping thing starting next week.  Did you ask for time off to do this?”

 

Byron was tickled by the question and displayed a slight grin when he heard it.  “Yes.  As a matter of fact I had requested to take the next week off over  five months ago.  It's been on the schedule.  I just didn't know what I'd be doing but the conversations at the bar yesterday gave me the idea.  I think it will be fun!  Look!”  He turned and pointed at the mountain standing silently in the distance and the others turned to look.  ”The mountain's right there.  It's not like I'm leaving town or anything.  It's right there, for heaven’s sake.  Those stories gave me the idea, but now I really want to go up there and explore for a bit.  That's all.”

 

“Byron, I have to admit, you have more guts than me.  I don't know.  Maybe I'm just too old now.  I love that mountain but I'll never go up in there.  You're young and have the experience and stamina to conquer that thing.  In my prime, I probably would have tried to conquer it too.  I wish you the best of luck, buddy.  Hey, and while you're up there, send me some pictures.  I just know the views up there have to be unbelievable.”

 

“Hey man, I gonna send all ya'll some pictures!  That's a no brainer.  Man, it's so beautiful from down here.  I just wanna see what it's like to look down on things from up there.”   His near fatal camping trip popped into his head unexpectedly and he realized that he'd better let others know his itinerary before leaving on his trek.

 

Lunchtime was almost over and it seemed to fly by faster than usual with the unorthodoxed discussion that just took place.  Nevertheless, Byron felt satisfied and re-energized.  His boys backed him up but not easily.  Without saying it in so many words, there was a mutual understanding that he would keep them informed of his activities during this trip and they would ensure he was okay.

 

*****

 

Saturday morning.  Another dry, hot, and sunny Sonoran day and he still needed a few more things from the neighborhood Target store.   He arrived there early before the weekend shoppers showed up, grabbed a shopping cart, and headed towards the rear of the store.  Within twenty minutes, he had found everything he needed and headed to the emptiest checkout line he could find.  So far, so good!  The clerk was just finishing with a customer and he was next in line.  While he was checking out, he heard a commotion near the store entrance.   Coming through the doors were at least four families with young children.  The peaceful shopping music was abruptly drowned out with the sounds of "Put that down!  Get over here!  Mommy, can I get this?"  He glared and shook his head, giving thanks to God that he was at the checkout, ready to leave the store.

 

Back at home, he began the arduous task of assembling his backpack.  He had to ensure the weight was distributed evenly or he could find himself falling to the side or tumbling backward.  On his first attempt, he slung it on his back and promptly fell backwards barely missing the dining room table with his head.  After that close call, he moved to a larger and more safer area and rearranged some of the items.  His impatience grew with each attempt.  After a couple of hours, he eventually succeeded but he was done with looking at the heavy monstrosity.  He placed it in the corner and forgot about it for the rest of the day as he began making other preparations for his trip.

 

He returned to his laptop and continued uncovering more information about the Superstitions.  With no knowlege of the mountain, he had a bit of difficulty finding websites that mentioned any of the trails by name.  He viewed a few news stories about people that made the trek into the Superstition Wilderness and were never seen alive again.   Many of them had simply run out of water or weren't properly prepared.  He paid extra  attention to these stories.  As he read one particular story, he noticed a search and rescue link at the bottom of the webpage.  He almost avoided clicking on the link but remembered he had to be rescued.  Bypassing his ego, he clicked on it.  Jackpot!  Right at the top of the webpage, it displayed the various trail systems around central Arizona, and one of them was the Superstition Wilderness Trails.  As he continued reading, he couldn't believe the wealth of information he'd found.  All of the various trails were mentioned, including their names, lengths, difficulty level, and descriptions.  News articles, more websites, personal accounts, and pictures came to the forefront with each search.  It was almost information overload.  Which trail should I tackle?

 

Soon he began to focus on the trail's difficulty level.  He was too adventurous for those easy, fairly level trails.  He needed a challenge, plus he wanted to ensure he was able to see all of Phoenix from the face of the mountain.  After all, that's what captivated him the most.  The website focused on the trails near the front of the mountain but there were others that were situated way, way back near Apache, Canyon, and Roosevelt Lakes.  These were for extremely experience hikers.  The rest of the range was mostly unexplored.  For Byron, those trails would be his next challenge after conquering the face of the Superstitions.

 

One trail was very popular and usually attempted by experienced hikers...the Siphon Draw Trail.  The description stated it was a popular trail that became very rocky after a while and may contain running water if it had rained recently.  It stretched six miles into the interior of the mountain wilderness and at its apex was the Flatiron Plateau.  From the Flatiron you could view all of Phoenix.  That's the trail I want to do!  As he read on, the trail started to become more unappealing.  Some reviews stated that the trail's popularity meant that it may be crowded at times and that it was very well marked so people wouldn't get lost.  The trail markings were a big dissapointment but not as much as the possibility of a crowded trail.  Newbies would only get in his way and slow him down spoiling his concentration and fun.  He looked at other trails but he was always drawn back to Siphon Draw.  That was the trail he desired the most.  But in order to enjoy it, he had to create his own alternate route far away from the crowds.  A new search was on.

 

He spent the next few hours scrutinizing Siphon Draw using Google Maps and other websites, searching for alternative paths but his search was in vain.  He was forced to accept the fact that he would have to create an ad hoc path as he hiked in order to avoid the crowds.  However his final goal would remain the same, to reach Flatiron Plateau.  He recalled his promise to send the guys pictures from up top but he suddenly realized that he may not get any cell phone service up there.  This was something else he had to deal with and there probably would be others, but so far, nothing was a show stopper.

 

Fatigue was setting in and he just wanted to let his mind run free for the rest of the day.  There was just enough sunlight left for him to fire up the grill and cook up a nice steak with some corn on the cob.  Downing a few beers helped pass the time as his dinner cooked.  Flavors saturated his mouth with that first bite and his fork never left his hand until the steak was gone.  The corn was still warm when he removed it from its foil cocoon and it tasted just as good as the steak.  With a full stomach, he retired to the bedroom to get some needed rest.  Before drifting off to sleep, he envisioned his entire hike as best he could, his images taken from everything he'd seen online.

 

*****

 

Another warm sunny day greeted the city as Byron opened his eyes.  His curtains subdued the morning sunlight but he still had to squint for a while.  It was Sunday morning, the day his hike was to begin.  Inhaling deeply to force oxygen into his body, he got up and headed to the bathroom to prepare for a very long and active day.  The cool water from his shower felt refreshing as it cascaded over his body and he stayed in there longer than usual since it would be five days before he would enjoy such a luxury again.  He didn't shave.  Who up there is going to see me or even care?

 

Back in his room, thick khaki camouflage pants and a heavy duty, breathable short-sleeved cotton shirt would be his wardrobe.  Sitting on the shelf in his closet was a  camouflage cap he would use to protect his head from the blistering sun.  On the floor were the same boots he wore when he almost lost his life.  He considered them his lucky boots.  Why they weren’t destroyed had always puzzled him but he was grateful they weren’t.  They fit snug on his feet, yet had enough wiggle room for his toes.  Their thick soles and deeply etched treads were capable of grasping onto the smoothest surfaces.  Yes, he really cherished those boots.

 

He fueled his body with a large protein heavy breakfast and a couple of cups of coffee and as he ate, he ran through the hike in his mind again.  It's a mental exercise he'd come to master and it forced him to become somewhat familiar with his trek.  He cleaned off the table and checked his cumbersome backpack once again, being very careful not to shift too many things around.  This damn backpack will kill me before the mountain will!

 

He began going through his pre-hike checklist.  His cellphone was fully charged.  His solar powered battery chargers were within easy reach.  He had sent an email to Fred last night letting him know he was leaving today.  He double checked that things were either locked, put away, or unplugged.  Quickly glancing around the living room, he realized that he wouldn't see his house for quite a while and he paused momentarily.  Then he clumsily hauled his backpack outside to the back of his truck, closing and locking the house door behind him.  He started to become excited as he climbed into the truck's cabin.  Superstitions, here I come!

 

Traffic was very light as his monolithic destination loomed silently in the distance.  The air seemed thin this morning.  He tried as best he could to concentrate on driving but his gaze kept shifting back to the mountain.  It was whispering to him again.  The mountain was positioned directly in front of him occupying much of his windshield.  Activating his cruise control, he was able to marvel at the sight as it grew larger with every closing mile.  The smooth green foliage at it's foothills slowly became more rugged and bristly.  Small ash colored patches of soil began appearing within the greenery and the thousands of needle-like stalks crowning it eventually thickened into giant multi-armed saguaro cacti majestically guarding the monolith like ancient Sonoran army.

 

His exit for the Lost Dutchman's State Park was just up ahead.  Delicate colors began to shimmer from the mountain as the sun rose higher in the sky.  According to his GPS, he was seven miles from the park entrance.  The mountain was no longer in sight, just the road leading into the park was visible.  Everything felt as if it was moving in slow motion.  Time seemed to slow to a crawl.  Those seven miles were the longest he'd ever experienced.  Finally, up ahead was another sign marked State Route 88, otherwise known as the Apache Trail, the entrance into Superstition Wilderness area.

 

A smooth right-hand turn onto the state route and the parking area was only two miles away.  The two-laned highway meandered through the bevy of foothills.  Sport enthusiasts with their speed boats and jet skis were nowhere to be seen...very unusual for this time of year.  Usually there was always someone hauling watercraft whenever he ventured to the Canyon and Apache Lakes behind the mountains, and he felt funny about their absence but he dismissed it.  It was still very early in the morning.  Birds crisscrossed the skies as he negotiated the small hills and valleys of the winding road.

 

With the mountain visible once more, it offered great amounts of shade, altering the mood of the area.  It's beauty had vanished and now it felt cold and vacant.  It was massive, vastly larger than the face, and extending all the way back onto the horizon.  He struggled to understand why it seemed so much larger today than it did at other times when he traveled that same road.  That disquieting feeling returned as he pulled into the parking area and parked his vehicle.

 

*****

 

As he exited his truck, the cool air of the shade engulfed him and poised in front of him was the darkened, nearly vertical, craggy walls of the mountain.  Everything was still.  He didn`t perceive any motion at all.  He stood there a while in awe at the sight.  This s**t is no joke!  Besides his own breathing, the only other sounds he could hear were the distant chirping of birds.  He was alone in the parking area.  Soon he unloaded his backpack and hydrated himself thoroughly.  Using preloaded maps of the mountain’s terrain stored on his phone, he spotted the start of the trail at the south end of the parking area.  Bracing himself, he donned his backpack, adjusting it accordingly until it became comfortable.  He checked his watch...7:38 am, time to go.

 

He started moving along the paved trail and was thankful that it would be easy going for a while.  Ahead of him were the smooth olive green foothills leading up to the steep mountain walls.  The grade of the trailhead was minimal and he figured it would be about a half hour before the serious climbing began and with that, he inserted his ear buds and began listening to some smooth jazz.

 

The sun rose higher in the sky but was still blocked by the enormous raised chunk of earth before him.  As the air warmed, sparse beads of sweat began forming on his forehead…an early sign that the day was going to be another scorcher.  He reached in his back pocket and slapped on his hat.  He turned around to check the parking lot.  His truck was still the only one in the parking area.  That prompted him to tap his pants pockets to ensure he had his keys.  He continued on the paved trail until he came into a fork in the trail.  Well, that’s it!  It’s only dirt from here on out.  The paved trail to the right was for inexperienced hikers.  The well-established dirt trail to the left was for the more adventurous person.  It was the beginning of Siphon Draw Trail.

 

The dirt trail was rather smooth with only a few small rocks jutting up from its surface but the trail itself became increasingly steeper.  On both sides of the trail, the foliage thickened and began encroaching onto the path.  Large sections of saguaro cacti lay dead, many of them embedded with large black holes created by the desert's hidden creatures.  Prickly pear and cholla cacti were everywhere along with countless sage and mesquite trees.  Small patches of yellow, white, and violet wildflowers displayed their colorful petals through the dense flora adding some beauty to the camouflaged surrounding.

 

He was keenly observant as he made his way up the trail and although the sun was still hidden from view, the surrounding air became even warmer.  Cold blooded reptiles would start making their way from their shelter to sun themselves and re-energize from the warmth.  These desert dwellers were experts in concealment and he could easily miss spotting them.  A bad encounter with a poisonous one would surely mean trouble for him.

 

*****

 

As he approached his first obstacle, a large set of boulders, he stopped momentarily and looked at his watch.  Just like he thought, about a half hour.  He lifted his head and examined the boulders he’d be ascending, looking for crevices to anchor his hands and feet and ensuring no unwanted creatures were lurking nearby.  Before tackling the climb, he gazed  to his left.  There sat a large flat basin.  Near its center was a nice deep, very smooth  depression and behind the basin was another large nearly vertical cliff that rose up fifteen to twenty feet etched with numerous smooth slots.  This must be the waterfall those websites were referring to.  Too bad there`s no water!  It was a pretty magnificent sight and he told himself he would explore it further on his way back down.

 

After catching his breath for a bit, he began his ascent, straining his arm and leg muscles as he hauled his 230 pound carcass upward.  The weight of his backpack forced his body closer to the boulders allowing him to grasp more tightly onto the small crevices.  With one last push with his left leg, he was on top.  Clearing his first hurdle, he couldn’t help but to wonder what else was in store for him.

 

He walked for a while in the general direction of the trail until he picked it up again, dodging numerous prickly pear catci along the way.  He was on a small plateau now and its terrain was very similar to the one he left behind.   Also, for the first time, he felt a sense of elevation.  So far, he hadn`t seen anyone else around and figured it may be too early for them to be out on a Sunday morning.  The foliage was still about shoulder high and spanned a wide area.  He trekked forward, unintentionally scaring small lizards back into their underground bunkers and frightening any birds that happened to be resting nearby.  The sun finally rose above the top of the mountain and he briefly turned around again to snatch a glance at the distant parking area.  Using his binoculars, he saw that his truck was bathed in sunlight and soon those rays would be searing his skin.  He stowed the binoculars and grabbed the bottle of suntan lotion from his backpack, spreading it on his hands, face, and neck as he walked.  Returning the lotion to his backpack, he opened one of the four canteens on his belt and took a nice sip of water.  Ahhhhhh!  It was still ice cold.

 

The steep trail forked once again and he took the leftward path which led him deeper into the mountain’s interior.  He was definitely off the Siphon Draw Trail now but he began to venture on some unmarked path that seemed to parallel it.

 

*****

 

His next hurdle was in sight…another wall of stone but this one was much taller and nearly vertical.  At the base, he looked up searching for a way to negotiate it.  Damn, this must be 20 feet tall but there are some places I can hold on to.  He began pulling himself up and he was doing fine, pushing with one leg while reaching with the opposite arm and then switching sides.  His right foot rested on a small ledge as he looked for another ledge to grasp.  There it is.  He pulled himself upwards while pushing off with his right leg.  The force was just enough to break the ledge from the wall leaving his right leg dangling.  Slightly off kilter, he had a firm grasp with his hands while his left foot sat in a wedge.   He found another ledge with his right foot and continued upwards.  Finally at the top, he stopped and rested, looking back down at the wall.  From this new vantage point, he noticed this plateau sloped downwards to his left.  As he turned to look closer, he became slightly annoyed when he noticed that he could have gotten to the same place by walking around the wall.  First lesson learned.  Look for alternate paths!

 

The sun illuminated everything now and that turned out to be a double edged sword.  He could see much better but its rays began to make him feel as though he was in an oven.   He estimated that he must have ascended 100 to 200 ft. to reach this plateau.  He estimated he had to climb another 1000 ft. or so before he reached the Flatiron.  He moved at a brisk pace, scanning the path ahead as he climbed.  Up ahead, just off the right side of the trail, he spotted something unfamiliar.  He shifted to the trail's left side, slowing his approach, then he stopped and stared.  He couldn’t make out what it was.  Part of it was concealed in the shade of a bush.  His curiosity got the best of him and he found a nice sturdy stick nearby.  With stick in hand, he moved forward again.  Is this thing alive?  It has no shape.  He stuck the stick out to poke the thing still trying to figure out what it was.  In an instant, the object jerked backwards and the air was filled with the familiar sound of a baby’s toy…it was a rattlesnake lazily sunning himself and it struck a defensive pose, coiling itself after being startled by Byron’s stick.  Byron jerked back just as quickly as the snake and he purposely gave the reptile a large berth as he bypassed it and returned to the trail.

 

The heat grew more intense and the towel he used to wipe his face was becoming soaked with sweat.  His water was holding out and he had eaten a few pieces of beef jerky to keep his energy up.  Now the path was very rocky and much steeper.  Each step led him higher and closer to the mountain’s secrets.  The width of the path had gotten noticeably smaller as the desert plants began to suffocate him.  He encountered a couple more rattlesnakes, multitudes of lizards and spiders, and even a few butterflies softly flapping their paper thin wings and moving along with the heat thermals.  The path was becoming more treacherous now.  Rocks began to loosen and roll backwards as he climbed higher.  He had already lost his footing and and fell a few times but he was unscathed.  A dangerous trail combined with this heat as a nasty combination.  He became keenly aware that he could make a very bad decision that could cause him serious injury no matter how careful he was.  He stopped and checked his GPS once again, he was still a fair distance from his desired destination.

 

The higher he ventured, the shorter the foliage became.  Low lying bushes, about a foot high, littered the terrain, covering the sandy ash colored soil.  Large, oddly shaped rock formations jutted upwards and massive boulders were scattered haphazardly in all directions.  Soon, walking became much easier and the path was nonexistent now, replaced by the igneous rock of the mountain itself.  From here on out, he was forced to depend on his GPS.

 

It had been two hours since he started his trek.  He continued to take  frequent breaks and gulped enough water to replenish the fluids lost due to the heat.  The backpack seemed to get heavier with every step.  For the first time, he began to second guess his decision to deviate from the Siphon Draw Trail.  For a hike like this, I need a light backpack.  This is really steep!

 

*****

 

He checked his GPS again and was relieved to find out his campsite was not far away.  In fact, it was just up over the next facade, but what a facade.  This would be his most challenging ascent yet.  Its surface was smooth, very different from the rugged ones he’d conquered earlier.  How am I going to get the right footing to climb this damn thing?  Pacing back and forth in front of the stone wall while downing a little more water, he vehemently searched for a way up.  A couple of ways became apparent but hauling the backpack with him made those ways impossible.   He studied his situation for a while and in a eureka moment, he removed his backpack and tied a rope onto the two carrying straps.  Then he lugged it over to a spot where he thought he could make his ascent the easiest.  Double checking the knot on the straps once again and feeling confident that it was secure, he began to climb, leaving the backpack on the ground as he trailed the rope behind him.

 

The rock had become too hot for bare hands so he stopped momentarily, slipped on his gloves, and continued upwards until he came to a small ledge.  He rested for a little while taking a glimpse at the scenery.   It was time to start tugging on the rope.  Pulling with all his might, he struggled with his backpack.  It seemed so much heavier this way and he began doubting this idea.  He continued pulling and his belongings slowly made their way closer to him.  His strength began to wane as he battled against gravity.  He could see it now, just ten feet below him.  He pulled fervently, jaws clinched tightly and muscles tensed.  Closer it came.  Now at his feet, he had to think quickly because he forgot to devise a plan for latching onto it with his hands and this negligence cost him dearly.  His strength was zapped as he just held his backpack in that position just below his feet.  Bracing himself against the granite with his legs, he let go of the rope with is left hand, causing the backpack to slip slightly.  Precariously bracing himself on the ledge, he reached down with his left hand and in a tricky balancing act, pulled on the rope once more.  As he straightened himself out, the backpack came up to his legs.  He clutched it by the straps and leaned it up against his body.  There he stood for several minutes, his back against the granite wall, catching his breath and recharging his strength.

 

Temporarily relieved but not out of the woods yet, he still had another 15 feet to climb.  Looking skyward, he saw a way up but the disposition of the backpack had quickly become his newest obstacle.  He searched for a place to rest it temporarily while he continued his ascent.   His only choice was the ledge he was standing on.  He pulled the backpack inward so it rested against the granite wall and slowly started his ascent, keeping the rope taught so the backpack would remain stationary on the ledge.  Concentrating back and forth on where he stepped and keeping the rope taught was very daunting.  His breathing was heavy and labored, both hands ached, and sweat dripped from his face and arms.  Upward and upward he rose, tackling the wall until he reached the precipice.  He pulled himself on top, still keeping the rope taught.  Now, one last task to perform.  He pulled on the rope and felt it tighten even more.  Grunting, he leaned back using his weight as leverage, feet firmly planted on the rock.  Watching the rope as he retreated from the ledge, he felt the backpack making its way up to him.  Soon, he caught a quick glimpse of it and held on for dear life.  Slowly he pulled himself back to the ledge, keeping the backpack in sight.  At the ledge, he reached down and with one sudden forceful jerk, lifted the backpack up and over.  He dropped down to the ground, along with the backpack, trying to catch his breath.  Barely able to see because of the sun’s glare and the sweat drowning his eyes, he felt around for one of the canteens attached to his belt, grabbed it, and took a nice long drink of lukewarm water.  There he sat until he felt rested enough to continue.

 

As he stood up, he looked down and noticed his shadow was directly below him and he figured it was just about high noon.  He cleared his eyes and finally took his first glimpse of the area.  It's fascination overwhelmed him.  Looking northward was the cliff he'd just conquered and in the distance, the parking area was no longer visible through his binoculars.  Only the beauty of the very distant hills occupied the horizon with the Four Peaks Mountain Range dominating it.  He scanned to the right and took in the beauty of the vast expanse of the mountain’s territory.  Stretching for tens of miles were colorful mountains and deep valleys that seemed to go on forever.  There was no evidence of any civilization in that direction.  He continued turning to his right and was slightly surprised by the formation of vertical stone spires standing about fifty feet into the air.  Massive crops of stone anchored into the plateau similar to the enormous ancient statues on Easter Island.  Finishing off his circle was the sight he’d been waiting to see.  Outstretched before him was an unimpeded view of Phoenix.  He'd reached the Flatiron.  The view of Phoenix was magnificent and stretched for miles and miles.  The beauty surrounded him and he was overjoyed that he decided to take this hike.

 

*****

 

He checked his GPS once again and was excited to find out his desired camping location was a mere five hundred feet away, give or take.   In his lightened mood, he donned his dusty backpack and set out toward it.  Heading away from the view of Phoenix, the stony terrain turned to light soil once again with small desert bushes scattered about.  Soon  he began scouting around for a place to set up camp.  Just off to his right, he spotted a small clearing, free from bushes.  As he strolled into it, he examined he surrounding area.  It was perfect.  The massive standing stones provided some shade during the hottest part of the day and he could feel a nice cross breeze.  It was excellent for viewing the nighttime lights of Phoenix if he wandered westward, outside the camping area a couple hundred feet or so.  Alright, this thing has got to go!  He expeditiously removed his backpack and took his time setting up his campsite.

 

With his new temporary home complete, he set out stashing his canteens at various locations away from the campsite.  This was a little trick he'd picked up while in the military.  During one of his training missions, he mistakenly placed his entire water supply in one location and, as luck would have it, later that day he discovered it had all been removed by someone or something.  Since that time, he began dispersing his water at different locations.  Removing a small shovel from his backpack, he began digging shallow holes and placed a single canteen in each of them.  Once buried, he marked the spots by tying small strips of cloth on the bushes nearby.  With the last one buried, he took a swig from a canteen attached to his belt and began his first day of camping on the Flatiron plateau.

 

Boredom set in quickly after he ate a little something and gotten some rest.  He kept busy by checking to see if he could receive a signal for this cellphone.  Three bars.  Cool.  He attached it to his solar powered charger then took refuge in the shade of one of the large standing stones.  There he watched a movie on his tablet and did a crossword puzzle.  The cross breeze had died down and he began feeling very uncomfortable from the heat, as if he was suffocating.  To feel some type of breeze, he decided to do some exploring.  As he walked out into the plateau wilderness, a disturbing thought popped into his head.  What am I going to do out here for five days and nights?  He was prepared for the hike but he overlooked the extended stay.  He could just shorten his trip but what would the guys think?  They would surely harass me and tell me I was scared.  I guess I HAVE to stay now.

 

The slightest of breezes ran over his skin and he walked westward away from his campsite to the front of the Superstitions.  He leaned back on a large boulder and just stared outward.  It was as if he was looking at the satellite view of Google Maps.  He tried as best he could to make out the highways and roads.  Although the atmosphere was nice and clear where he was, in the distance, downtown Phoenix was mostly shrouded by smog.  Somewhat disappointed, he continued to stare at the many distant mountain ranges surrounding the valley, speaking their names in turn.  The heat beating down on his face didn't seem to bother him but soon his mind became preoccupied with what he may be able to see after sunset.  He imagined himself admiring the millions of shimmering lights emanating from the metro Phoenix skyline.  And above the skyline, the silent twinkling stars added another dimension to his magnificent fantasy.  All I need now is a little jazz and I would be in heaven!  The roar of an aircraft overhead snapped him out of his daydream and that's when he realized that half an hour had passed.

 

Returning to his campsite, he was determined to find more things to keep him busy.  Grabbing his phone, he began filming the campsite and surrounding area, making a small movie to show his crew.  That was an unexpected pleasure and really made the time seem to pass very quickly.  The shadows from the vertical standing stones began to lengthen but the heat didn't subside.  He began exploring again, this time walking towards the east.  The setting sun set the landscape ablaze with color.  The clarity was unimaginable.  He pulled out his binoculars and peered deep into the Superstition wilderness.  He spotted areas where the ground seemed to disappear only to resurface in another area.  Could this be where the lakes are?  He was unsure.  The vacant areas seems much to small to hold lakes and there were too many of them scattered about the plateau.  He took a few pictures as the sun set below the mountains in the west.  Nighttime was coming.

 

It took a while for the dark blue sky to surrender to the black curtain of the night.  The heat of the day still had not subsided and he knew it was going to be a miserable night.  He fired up his LED camping lanterns and chowed down on a couple of MREs and some beef jerky.  As he ate, he watched as the misty Milky Way cloud gradually appeared, hovering directly above him along with thousands of other twinkling stars.  A welcomed distraction from the heat.  Next, he started admiring the LED camping lanterns he'd purchased.  They worked much better than he ever expected.  The entire campsite was bathed in a nice bright light.  Although a  campfire would be more suitable for this trip, there was a red flag fire restriction in effect for Central Arizona and open fires were prohibited.

 

Byron headed back to the front of the Flatiron to take in the awe and beauty of Phoenix at night.  He turned on his iPod and the jazz emanating from it set the mood for the evening.  Leaning against the same boulder he used before, he relaxed shifting his attention from the city lights to the stars above.  Absolutely beautiful!  When the music changed tracks, he would snap some pictures and forward them to the crew.

 

Soon he closed his eyes and listened to his sweet music, freeing his mind of everything.  He did care how much time passed.  Everything seemed to stand still until a lengthy wailing of a saxophone forced his eyes open.  He checked his watch. It was 11:47 pm.  Taking a final glance at the city lights, he hauled his tired carcass back to the campsite and prepared for bed.  He unfurled his sleeping bag and placed it in this tent although he was having serious thoughts about sleeping outside on top of it.  It was still hot.  He dimmed the lantern and took a final swig of water.  Taking as many precautions as possible to ensure no reptiles would be curling up with him overnight, he began drifting off to sleep.  He was just about to lose consciousness when he felt the ground rumble slightly.  He opened his eyes lay motionless, trying to understand what cause it.  Minutes passed before he shut his eyes again.  Pop!  Snap!  Crrrrrr!  He opened his eyes quickly this time.  What the hell was that?  He pulled out a large Bowie knife from his belt and slowly unzipped his tent.  Looking out into the darkness in the direction of where he thought he heard the sounds, nothing.  Was it a dream?  He was unsure.  If there was something out there, it was probably a coyote skulking around for food.  Shrugging it off, he re-entered his tent, knife at the ready, and drifted off to sleep.

 

*****

 

Upon awakening the next morning, he was almost blinded by the bright red glow engulfing the inside of the tent as the sun beat down on it.  Squinting, he eased out of his sleeping bag and unzipped the tent door, taking care to check if any critters were still sleeping nearby.   He stood up slowly and stretched his tight muscles.  It was still warm and his body reeked of sweat.  There was just enough leftover water leftover in one of his canteens to wash some of the stink away and he used moist wipes after the water was gone.  Feeling a little refreshed, he chose to eat his breakfast under the shade of the massive stones.

 

As the temperature rose higher, he knew he had to get moving just to capture some type of breeze.   Approaching one of the marked canteen burial locations, he began digging and soon he heard a familiar ‘clink’.  Removing the surrounding soil, he grabbed the canteen, and removed it from the large ziploc bag.  He took a drink and was thrilled to find that it was still cold, verifying that his new idea had worked.  The night before the hike, he placed the canteens in the freezer.  In the morning, he carefully placed them in his backpack hoping the water would remain cold for at least a day.  It was the first time he ever tried this little trick and it worked just fine.  Amused by the small success, he hiked a short distance away from his campsite to see what he could discover.

 

He instinctively headed in the direction of the noises he heard last night.  Small wisps of dust flung out with each step as he finally began feeling a small breeze that cooled off the back of his neck.  The landscape varied little, plenty of small bushes and a lot of loose soil.  The occasional lizard would scamper away and hide under nearby brush.  He continued in a fairly straight line, looking back to see where the massive stones were.  Soon the ground  became uneven, sort of unusual since everywhere else seemed to be pretty level.  He stepped down into a shallow ditch for a few steps then stepped back up.  This went on for a little while, stepping down and back up again.  It was nothing to really be concerned about.  Maybe water settled there and eroded those patches.

 

The rolling hills in the distance were proudly displaying their multi-hued colors and Byron began filming their beauty, occasionally interjecting himself in front of the camera lens to star in his own film.  The breeze had gotten stronger and helped keep the temperature down as the sweat on his forehead began to evaporate.  The large stones were far away now and he pulled out his binoculars to see if he could get a better view of the mountains and valleys.  He spotted many more valleys but to him, they seemed more like very large sinkholes.  They were too far away for him to get a closer look but he still wondered why these sinkholes existed in this environment.  They were sparsely scattered and differed greatly from the other smooth  valleys.  The sinkhole edges were abrupt and jagged from a distance and seemed out of place up there.  Hours passed as he traversed from one location to another, relying on the large stones as a beacon for his campsite.  He eventually made it back to his campsite by mid-afternoon.

 

That long expedition took a toll on him but instead of resting, he headed to the front of Flatiron plateau to catch another glimpse of his beloved city.  This time he was in luck, downtown was clearly visible today.  There he leaned back on his favorite boulder, thinking about everything and about nothing as miniature cars and trucks glided slowly along the long stretches of highways beneath his high perch.  Turning on his jazz once more, he was whisked away into the realm of relaxation the he’d never attained before and in this trance-like state, he remained for another hour.

 

After a while, something he spotted earlier began to bother him.  It was those areas of  uneven terrain he found during that last hike.  How did they get there?  It didn't seem logical for water to pool in such a strange way so maybe they weren't produced by water.  That's when he realized that those uneven patches were in a fairly straight line.  Why?  Still pondering those questions, he returned to his campsite and prepared to make a more substantial meal.  The rest of the evening was similar to the evening before...boring.  That night, the wind ceased blowing and the heat radiating from the mountain was almost too much to bear.  His mood had soured and he started to become agitated by the lack of cool air.  Damn!  Another night of this s**t!

 

*****

 

When was the last time I had any water?  He couldn't remember and that meant it was too long ago.  He picked up the canteen lying by the door of his tent and shook it, listening for the muffled splash of water inside.  Instead, there was no sound; it was empty.   He tossed the empty utensil in his tent and grabbed the small metal shovel from his backpack.  With shovel in hand, he slowly plodded over to one of his marked sites and with a deep grunt, plunged his shovel into the rock-laden earth.  His vision blurred as sweat entered his eyes.  He continued removing the soil from the shallow grave until he felt his shovel hit something solid.  Shortening his strokes, the top of the steel canteen came into view in the light of the lantern sitting a short distance away.  He dropped the shovel, leaned forward, and used his gloved hands to clear the rest of the soil from around the canteen.

 

Quickly, he lifted his head and sat very still like a frightened antelope.  He turned his head slightly to the right, cocking it, and listened.  He could have sworn he heard something snap in the distance.  The only objects visible to him were in the vicinity of his campsite and the stars above.  Blackness enveloped the rest of the plateau.  A few soundless minutes passed before he slowly returned to retrieving the canteen.  His thirst intensified as he reached in to remove it from its resting place.  Again, he quickly lifted his head and began listening once more.  He was sure he heard something this time.  Where is it?  Staring out into nothingness, he concentrated on locating the source of the sounds.

 

Just then, the nastiest, most vile odor invaded his olfactory senses and the pungent smell forced his head backwards in disgust.  He held his breath as he tried to refocus once more on the sounds.  He didn’t see or hear anything out there.  Then with a hard thud, he fell forward, face down, onto the rough desert terrain, forcefully expelling air from his lungs.  He winced as a vice-like grip squeezed his legs at the ankles.  The pain intensified as he found himself being dragged over the jagged rocks and prickly underbrush of the mountain plateau away from the protection of his campsite.  He reached to grasp onto anything but the terrain shredded his skin like a food grater.  His cries of pain faded into the abyss of the mountain, not to be heard by anyone.   In an instant, the grip on his ankles was magnified as he felt himself being lifted skywards, higher and higher, swinging to and fro uncontrollably.  With no frame of reference in the blackness of the night, he became disoriented.  In the distance, he caught brief glimpses of the light from his campsite.

 

Blood rushed into his head and he felt as if it was going to explode at any time.  He let out more screams but to no avail.  His eyes could not find any light now.  There was only the sound of crunching, loud crunching as if something very heavy was pounding on the earth below but he couldn’t see what made the sounds.  In his extreme state, bloodied and in excruciating pain, he recognized their rhythmic nature, with some sounds closer than others.  As he struggled to try to free himself, the crunches closest to him took on a very familiar sound.  Something was walking, carrying him upside down.  He felt himself swaying back and forth to the rhythm of the crunches and with each sway,  cruel shots of pain ripped through his legs. What was walking?  What's holding me in the air?  How many of them were there?

 

He was utterly helpless.  He tried his best to remain conscious but the combination of intense pain and blood pooling in his head began to overtake him.  Just as he was ready to pass out, he felt himself descending rapidly and the sensation shocked his body.  He was free falling.  With a quick jerk, the falling sensation stopped and he heard a loud pop and thud.  He screamed in agony.  His ankles went limp as searing pain surged through his body.  He concluded that both ankles were broken.  Through the pain, he heard more thuds then silence.  Momentarily opening his eyes, he saw dim dancing glimmers of light set far away.  The suddenly he was swung forward with a force that was unfathomable and released.  Flying through the air, unguided, he yelled until he slammed into the ground and rolled uncontrollably like a rag doll. He lay there in pain, breathing shallowly.  Briefly opening his eyes again, all he could see was a glow of light then it faded.

 

*****

 

His head rung and pounded when he awoke.  In fact, his entire body felt like a hotly used punching bag.  His broken and bloodied body lay there useless and limp while thoughts of ending it all ran through his mind.  The glow of light was still there.  It was the light that gave him a glimmer of hope even though he had no idea of what created it.  He tried moving his arms but he felt as though his left arm may be broken.  That’s three extremities that are useless to him.  Regardless, he tried moving his tattered body, using his one good arm, in the direction of the light.  He didn’t have a clue where he was but the dark pit seemed like a enormous coffin.  They may very well find me dead down here, if they find me at all!

 

Inch by inch, he clawed his way towards the dimmed light trying his best to discount the pain radiating throughout his body.  If he was to survive this ordeal, he would have to make it to the light no matter how unsure he was about what lurked there.  The sound of the loud crunches were gone and he seemed to be alone.  There were no stars above him and his grunts and moans echoed.  He kept moving closer to the source of the light.

 

The ground seemed rocky and devoid of any plant life and although the air was very dry, he could sense a hint of water permeating it.  The sour taste of blood constantly reminded him of how hurt he really was and he spat the slurry liquid out occasionally as he crawled.  Then a crazy-a*s thought ran through his mind, something he dismissed as impossible.  A thought that bothered him so much, he ceased crawling just so he could concentrate on it.

 

There’s no truth in what Fred said, is there?  He lay there, recollecting the fantastic tale Fred wove about the giant Indians living in the Salt River Valley.  Giant Indians!  The Jian-du-pids?  D****t, there’s no such thing!  He tried to convince himself that it wasn’t true but how could he explain what happened to him?  Okay, what happened to me?  I heard some noises then I was dragged along the ground by my feet.  Then something with one helluva grip lifted me upside down and carried me away.  Okay, then I was still being held when I felt myself falling and whatever it was tossed me like I was a piece of trash.  What could have done all of that?  The more he thought, the more he convinced himself that something like giant Indians did exist.  But how could they, especially this day in age?  How come no one else had ever seen them if they were so big?  Where the hell do they live?

 

Shaking his head gently, trying to rid himself of the preposterous thought, he began crawling once more but the silly thought kept nagging at him.  Giant Indians could explain everything, but it’s absurd!  There’s no such thing!  Realizing that the light in the distance had grown somewhat brighter, he surmised he must be getting closer to its source.  He paused for a while and rested, giving his one good arm time to recuperate from moving his heavy, broken body.  His breathing was labored and his entire body still ached something fierce.  Suddenly, he stopped breathing...and listened.  He heard something in front of him.  His body tensed and his eyes widened.  God, please don't let those things come back!  There he lay, helpless, unable to hide or defend himself, scared shitless.  He stayed in that position for a long time but he didn't hear any more sounds.  Breathing very lightly but silently, he continued listening and looking.  Nothing.  Nothing is there!  A multitude of emotions overcame him all at once, almost bringing him to tears but he decided to keep crawling towards the glowing light.

 

It was dancing about on the wall.  Maybe it's from a fire but how would a fire get down here?  He kept inching forward, being as quiet as possible and listening intently.  A large shadow passed in front of the dancing light and he stopped.  Another shadow passed, and then a few more.  Terrified more than ever, he stayed very, very still.

 

The glow slowly became brighter and he ducked his head down, still watching the dancing light.  Brighter and brighter it became.  Now he heard many footsteps but these were different from the crunches he had heard earlier.  These were much, much lighter and they were coming in his direction.  He waited anxiously to find out his fate.  The footsteps came closer and closer.  From behind the wall in front of him, a torch appeared floating in the air.  He watched as the torch moved out in the open.  It was being held by a small man, a very small man only a few feet tall.  This is unbelievable!  Is it a Tuar-tum?  Is this real?  More small men appeared with some carrying torches.  Byron watched in total disbelief and even wondered if he was already dead.  Fred's story...and Gary's ...those old damn superstitions...they're true!

 

The sound of hundreds of trampling feet pierced Byron's ear.  The Tuar-tums were coming in his direction but he didn't know if they were coming for him.  Behind him came a very loud roar, a deafening sound, then the familiar sounds of large crunching.  What the hell is going on?  He sunk as far down as he could as most of the Tuar-tums passed him by.  A few stopped to look at him and snarled, displeased that an invader had entered their realm.  He cowered, wondering what they would do to him.  Those angry Tuar-tums turned their attention away from him and headed in the direction of the roars.

 

The crunches became louder and he looked behind him and saw a sight that he hoped no other human would ever see.  The Jian-du-pids, possibly twenty or thirty feet tall, with shields and makeshift hammers where charging at the Tuar-tums.  Hundreds and hundreds of Tuar-tums charged at the large creatures and a fierce battle ensued.  The very agile Tuar-tums quickly climbed onto the Jian-du-pids with their axes and began slicing their skin causing them to scream in agony.  In return, the Jian-du-pids took huge swipes down at the ground with their hammers striking numerous Tuar-tums with a single blow. 

 

Byron was witnessing an unbelievable war between the two factions that had been raging on for millennia.  The battle raged on with no obvious winner.  The Jian-du-pids were bloodied everywhere from the hundreds of cuts inflicted on them by the Tuar-tums and some of them had been brought down and killed.  The crushed bodies of Tuar-tums lay strewn throughout the pit.  Suddenly Byron realized where he may be...in the underground lair of the Tuar-tums.  He had been taken to their realm by the Jian-du-pids.  But why?  Byron felt the ground vibrating as the battle wore on and in an act of self-preservation, he began crawling for a safe spot to hide.  A loud roar scared Byron enough to make him stop crawling and turn around and catch a large shadow heading directly towards him.  Once again, he was lifted skyward by a crushing grip.  He yelled , lifting his head skywards only to see darkness.  The Tuar-tums yelled and attacked the giant Indian.  Byron was tossed once again, landing against the wall of the pit.  Unable to move, many of theTuar-tums came over and attacked him.  Just before losing consciousness for the final time, he realized why he was brought there...he was the bait!

 

#####

 

Thank you for reading my story.  I hoped you enjoyed it.  If you did, would you take a moment to give me a review?

 

Thankx,

 

Anthony P. Rogers

Author's Note

Critique as much as possible including spelling, flow, dialogue, etc. I'm very interested in you perceived any imagery in your mind as you read. Thankx,

Reviews

[little bad puppy]

not bad, work on your flow a little, and maybe some more descriptors. check out my werewolf story for example. but all in all good.