Yes, that's right. A short little two-day danger filled stretch. It's been a bit lonely out there, as I haven't seen a single northbound thru-hiker in 150 miles. Southbounders and section hikers, sure, but not my peeps.
The first day out I was hiking through a burned out area. It felt like a graveyard. Very eerie. And to make matters worse, I was walking through the misty, drizzly clouds. I heard what sounded like a gunshot. I swung around and saw a dead tree falling in the distance. Holy smokes, I thought. I better get out of here before that maniac with such a powerful gun fires one my way. As I quickened my pace, I started to hear all kinds of animals. There were no leaves/needles on the trees to muffle the sounds, so I was able to hear every yowling and shuffling of all the werewolves, Sasquatchi, unicorns, and bears. Who is going to help me, I thought, when a rabid jackalope attacks? Certainly not a southbounder.
For those of you without a finely tuned subtle sense of humor and/or an extraordinarily good memory -- i.e. not Caroline -- I made a joke almost a thousand miles ago that bears weren't real. This is why I listed them with all the other imaginary animals. Even though it seems every hiker has had one, if not multiple, bear sightings, I have yet to see one. And if I haven't see it, than it's not real. Just like Ecuador, my internal organs or a bad pun.
Want to know a secret of being funny? Just set your audience up to expect one thing, and then tell them an otter.
Eventually, I made it out of that dead forest alive. The next morning, I passed a hand-written sign on a piece of cardboard that said "Fire alert! The fire poses no threat, but be cautious of the lightning strike *skull and crossbones* SNAG *skull and crossbones*". No worries, I'll just be careful of the snag. One small snag in the plan. I don't know what a snag is. Not ten seconds later I came across another cardboard sign, facing the opposite direction. It had the exact same message. Phew, I was out of danger now. Curiously, I looked behind me at the 20 yard danger zone to find what was so dangerous about it. I couldn't see anything. Whatever it was, it must have been hidden from view behind that huge dead tree.
Two hours later, I came across another handwritten note. This one said "Lightning Strike. Smoldering. Called 911. ---> Kyle." At least this note had an arrow pointing to where the danger was. Sure enough, as my eyes followed the arrow, I could see a lot of smoke, and smelt the burning wood.
Here is a running commentary of my thoughts at the time. As I wouldn't really enjoy being burned alive, I should double-time it out of here. Besides, someone had already called the authorities, I don't have to do anything. Boy, I wish Chief were here. Why can't he get his lazy ass to where he is needed. Where are those people on the other end of the 911 call. Certainly, it's not my job to do anything about this. Wait a minute. Chief isn't here. Neither are the authorities. Neither is the person who left the note and did nothing about the fire. I'm here. Canada isn't going anywhere. I don't have anything better to do than fight a little forest fire. The fire is only 15 feet from a lake, so I can always go for a little swim if things get out of hand. Besides, I've got everything I need. I've got water (the lake). I've got a fire hose (Gatorade bottles). I've got the know-how (I talked with Chief for about a half hour about forest fires. What more could he possibly know from 30 years as a fire fighter than he didn't convey to me in those 30 minutes?). And since Chief wasn't here yet (really, Chief, what's taking you so long), I had his large pants to fill.
Seriously, I was wearing his pants. And they are at least 4 inches too big for me at the waist. Backing up a bit, when I was in Etna, I saw Chief's wife at the brewery. I was sporting my best hobo look with my long pants that I had worn every day for almost three months. The right leg had recently ripped up to my knee. I had been tripping over the day before (when I was speed hiking with ZenMaster and Victuals), and as a temporary solution had just tied off the flopping pant leg at my knee. In town, I met Hammer who I hadn't seen from Day 0 at Scout & Frodo's house and told him that I was thinking about making shorts out of them. He convinced me that the hobo look was great and I should keep it. That was a good enough argument for me. But not for Maureen, apparently. She looked absolutely appalled, and told me (between chuckles) that under no circumstances that I was allowed to continue to wear them. She had just bought a new pair of pants for Chief which he refused to take on the account that they didn't fit him. A proper fit is not a requirement for me, and seeing as Maureen thought an extra four inches around the waist and two inches at the ankles was a significant step up from my current attire, she insisted I take these pantaloons.
So, after all these thoughts, and a hundred yards of walking, I turned around in Chief's pants, and headed back to the fire. I thought I'd keep one Gatorade bottle to drink out of later, and use one to fight the fire. Back and forth I went to the lake, pouring a liter at a time over the smoke. When a couple of pine needles on the tree next to me burst into flames (oh yeah, this fire just got real), I decided it was time to use both Gatorade bottles. I don't want to exaggerate (here. I do like exaggerated everywhere else), but the flames were at least as big as, say, once matchstick burning. Maybe even two.
I got the flames out, kept pouring water over the ground, kicking and splashing in the mud to try to cool down anywhere that had been smoking. After 5-10 gallons of water, there was no more smoke left, and no warm ground, I was satisfied. I waited a couple of minutes longer. Still nothing, and as I figured that Canada wasn't going to come to me, I headed back on the trail.
For the next hour I heard a helicopter but couldn't see it. I imagine it was looking for the fire, but I don't know. I ran into a southbound thru-hiker, and talked with him a bit. When I told him that I just put out a forest fire, he informed me that the last couple of hikers he saw told him the same thing. Never trust a section hiker to do the job right, I thought. A couple hours later I saw an eight man fire crew heading out to put out the fire. Eight guys. All their fire-fighting equipment. Don't worry about it guys. Me and my Gatorade bottles took care of it. Thanks, anyway. I might have been arrogant enough to think it, but certainly not arrogant enough to say it.
When I got into Elk Lake resort, I met Kyle, as well as EZ Rider, and another hiker whose name I forgot and got the rest of the story. Two days prior, there was a big storm. I got drizzled on coming into Shelter Cove, but there was lots of lightning. One day prior, EZ Rider ran across the fire. He had also been a fireman for a little while, and started to put out the fire, along with the other two guys that had come across later. The ground was so hot it was melting their shoes. They put about 15-20 gallons of water on it, got it under control, called 911 with the GPS coordinates. I came around the next morning, and put it out again. The fire crew came around in the afternoon, and hopefully put it out for good.
I don't know if it actually would have started a forest fire, but I can confidently state that in all likelihood I didn't make the problem worse.
Chief, next time I see you, I am expecting my merit badge.
- Junior Fire Fire Fighter Roger Dodger
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