This is a story I do not enjoy retelling, but I can't keep it buried in one of the dark alcoves of my memories any longer. It's driving me crazy... I need to tell someone, anyone that will listen. Maybe then I can rest. It all started about ten years ago. I'm from a small town of around 600 people, nestled in a corner of a high desert valley. Ten minutes in any direction and you find yourself completely alone amongst the sage and pines.
My family has been living here for several generations, and nearly every story about my father, grandfather, great grandfather that I can remember takes place in the mountains. We are a family of woodsmen and hunters, just as comfortable in one of the many steep canyons as in our own homes.
My paternal great grandfather made our family name locally famous, for a few years at least. He was a bounty hunter, and he would track people down that figured they could escape to the mountains, and he was damn good at it. Unfortunately, he was stricken with Alzheimer's before I was old enough to remember much about him, but what I do remember is the campfire stories my dad and grandfather used to tell about him. Many of them were about the former town drunk being taken in for the tenth time, it always seemed to be the tenth time no matter how different the story was, as he was passed out under some tree somewhere. But a few of the campfire stories were much different, darker I guess you could say. I always thought they were just that. Campfire stories to make us kids stay in the tent so the adults could have some peace. But now, I'm not sure. Having to track sometimes dangerous criminals in a rugged, and unforgiving high desert required my great grandfather to have an immense amount of knowledge of the local area. He knew where every spring, cave, huckleberry patch was for miles and miles in any direction from town. This knowledge was passed on to my grandfather, then to my dad, then to my brother and I. We spent many days deer and elk hunting in our home away from home. Our knowledge of the area helped us find and track some amazing trophies, plus, we were never lost. At least not in the woods. When I was a junior in high school, my brother was a freshman. We were always fairly close, as these things go in small towns. Because of our great grandfathers legend, we were the designated guides of any and all outdoor excursions. From simple overnighters, to fishing trips, to full on keggers, everyone at school came to us with questions about where to go. I guess they figured that if my great grandpa had to show the local police where the criminals hid, we would know where they couldn't find us.
One camping trip I will never forget. My brother had a few friends that had recently moved to a town about thirty miles away. They were new to the area, and wanted to go exploring. We took them to a little campsite we called Frog Pond. During the spring when the snow was melting, a small pond would form and these giant frogs would come from seemingly nowhere. Everyone knew about this little spot, as it was right of the dirt road heading up the canyon, so it was easy to get to on short notice. We did the typical camping for high schoolers. Built a fire that was far to big, drank beer we stole from the local store, and of course recanted some of the campfire stories about my great grandfather. The next morning, our new friends weren't feeling up to a day full of exploring for reasons I'm sure you can guess. We goaded them into coming on a small hike to ridge about a mile or so away. It was steep, but from this ridge to could see around the majority of the canyon, and it was breathtaking. Perfect for people new to the area.
We start hiking, telling dirty jokes, talking about which girl we had a crush on at the time. Typical stuff, nothing to exciting. I thought we were being fairly loud, and scaring away anything and everything for miles. Apparently I was wrong. We walk down this to this little grove of trees where a spring we know of is to grab a quick drink of water. As we walk around this thicket of trees there it stands.