It’s just under twelve miles on a dirt road before you hit tar and the curves in the road straighten out. Out there the trees are cut down and you tend to look forward and drive fast.
If you stay at the other end of the twelve miles you are under the canopy of downward draping second growth redwood forest. These giant rough skinned trees are like sponges, they suck up moisture and block out the sun, keeping everything cool. Damp. The fallen needles quiet the footsteps of creatures. Dusk comes early. It really feels like killers and spirits take haven in redwood forests.
This camp with bark strip siding was one we came upon through dense forest. Stories had been told and passed on and told again. “Somewhere up there there’s a vein that’s still producing nuggets.” I cradled a 30.6 in my left hand, my stronger right hand gripped the 9 mil. Sean was on my right with his gold dowsing stick.
“We’re real close..” he said, but with fear in his voice. He wasn’t ready for claim jumping this afternoon. I looked over and that sapling crook was trembling in his hands. It was pulling strong towards that cabin.
“If the old man was home we’d be dead by now…” I said. It didn’t give us the confidence I thought it would. Neither of us smiled.
A limb cracks behind us, we turn to the noise. Nothing else moves. We turn back to the cabin. A man of robust middle age stands there. He is dressed in a fine dark suit and smiling. Staring at Sean and I.
“Did you bring ice? It’s such a rare commodity in these parts.”
Sean and I looked at each other. We looked at the gentleman who’d spoken.
“You’re here for Robin’s birthday party, aren’t you?”
Sean and I looked at each other. We looked at the gentleman who’d spoken.
“It melted,” Sean said. He lowered his gold dowser to his side. My pistol was pointing at pine needles on the ground. I put it in my pocket.
Sometimes you get stories mixed up.