Tucked Tail

Dog Valley Road, west and south of Verdi, generally makes the news every couple of years during the winter when someone trying to avoid road closures over Donner Summit gets stuck in the snow and requires rescue. It is also one of my favorite places when the Truckee River starts receiving higher elevation runoff.

There is a single-lane treliss bridge on the aptly named Bridge Street heading to Dog Valley Road. Two afternoons ago, I pulled off the road to walk to the bridge and watch the water rush by.

The bridge is a primitive steel girder affair, built in the middle of the 20th century, a classic from a bygone era of Americana. Admittedly, it takes me back to my childhood and the number of old steel-beamed and riveted bridges I grew up around.

As I stood there enjoying the view and the sound of the rushing river, another noise came to my ear. At first, I thought it was a house cat wildly meowing, perhaps trapped on a rock along the bank.

Wanting to help, I climbed down the embankment toward the direction from where I believed the animal was crying. I walked about 100 yards in both directions before I realized the cat had stopped meowing.

Standing still and listening, I also realized that I could no longer hear the birds that had been being noisy a few minutes ago. Gone were the Ravens and Crows, as were the smaller birds, like the Chickedee’s and the Quail.

Then I heard the cat meow. But it was somehow different, sounding like words.

Again, I stood still to listen. Once more, it came, but this time, instead of a meow, it was a woman saying, “Help me.”

“I can hear you, but I don’t see you,” I called back over the roar of the water. “Where are you?”

No response. So I shouted, “Hello?”

Still, the only sound I could hear was the river. I returned to the trail I used to get near the water.

“Help me,” she called.

“Where are you?”

Nothing. I climbed up the bank to the dirt path that led back to the bridge.

“Help me,” came the voice, this time distorted and angry.

Instead of shouting back, I ran to my truck and left the area. After having some time to think it over, I am sure somebody had a pretty good chuckle watching me hightail it back to Interstate 80.