Company

Hopefully, this will make sense, as I am still pretty tired after Saturday and Sunday’s escapade. Since I was ahead in all of my newspaper writing assignments, I thought I’d treat myself to a little “me time,” by heading over to California’s Gold Country and visiting the back roads of Calaveras County.

Calaveras County is home to Angel’s Camp, where Mark Twain first heard the tale he would turn into the best-selling book, “The Jumping Frog of Calaveras County.”

Stopping on Highway 49 between Scottsville and Big Bar, I parked, put on my day pack, then hiked into the forest in a southwest direction. It was 7:30 in the morning, and I didn’t think I’d be gone longer than four or five hours, returning home long before sunset.

I was wrong.

Somehow, I became disoriented, lost my sense of direction, and since it was getting too dark to continue walking, I found a large tree and set up a cold camp between the roots. I sat between them and waited for darkness to overcome the entire forest.

With my bag, I also had some snack bars, two gallons of water, one of the containers mostly gone by the time I called it quits for the day, my U.S. Marine Corps wobbie, also known as a poncho liner, and my K-Bar knife. It wasn’t much, but I was sure it would get me through the night.

Checking my phone, it was about ten at night, and I knew Mary would be worried. I was right, as after I got home, I learned she had called to report me missing, as I had left her a note telling her where I was heading.

As the night became the early morning, I catnapped, dosing off-and-on, but never allowing myself to fall into a deep sleep. I held my K-Bar in my lap in case something came out of the night to surprise me.

It was about one or so when I sensed I was not alone. It began as an odor, that of a wet dog, grew into the smell of a skunk, then the stink of rotten eggs.

With the moon being a sliver, there was not enough light to see what accompanied me, but I could hear its breathing, so I knew I had company. Battling my instinct to yell at it, scare it off, or cause it to attack me, I stayed still, studying the darkness and hoping to catch a shadow that would let me know what I was dealing with.

Finally, I saw a touch of movement, and then I wish I hadn’t. It was massive and resting less than 15 feet from me.

I sat still and slowed my breathing, knowing that if I panicked, I could get killed. It was like a “Mexican stand-off,” which of us would be the first to blink?

Still, whatever was across from me breathed deeply and calmly, something I tried to emulate.

As sunshine began to poke between the trees, I heard, but never saw, my guest, get up with a soft grunt and walk away from where we sat. Still, I sat in place, my ass and legs numb, refusing to move until I could see everything around me.

Finally, feeling secure that I could navigate back to the highway since I knew where the sun was shining from, I headed in its direction. I kept my ears open to any noise behind me or the sudden silencing of the forest that would denote the presence of a predator or something.

It took me four hours to find the road, and my truck, after I started walking the wrong way, only to have a deputy stop and ask my name. He took me to my vehicle, where a search-and-rescue team was readying to look for me.

Still, without service, I thanked my would-be rescuers and headed back toward Scottsville. In town, my phone went wild with 22 messages from Mary and another dozen from law enforcement.

While getting something to eat, I called her to let her know I was okay and would tell her all when I got home. I could tell by the sound of her voice she was relieved to learn I was okay.

Home never looked so good as I pulled into the driveway and climbed from my truck. I can think of little better than being greeted by a happy wife and an excited dog to make a man feel welcome.

As for the thing in the forest, I am concluding that if it was not my overwrought imagination and not Bigfoot, it must have been St. Michael, Guardian Angel of Marines, keeping me company. It wouldn’t be the first time Big Mike has pulled my bacon out of the fire.

Once again, I am behind in my work, but you know, I’m okay with that.