Everything else, including my laptop, clothes, toiletries, towels, bedding, blankets, books, sketch pads, cookware, and more groceries than I’d ever purchased at one time, was at the ranger station, stacked neatly in plastic storage bins, waiting to be flown up to the lookout.
“I sure hope so, it’s too late now if I don’t,” I replied, shutting the back door. “I can always grab what I need when I come back down for supplies.”
“In three weeks.” His tone was a reminder of just how long that was.
“In three weeks,” I echoed, my own assurance that Iwouldbe back.
He nodded and reached out, pulling me into a hug. “You keep that bear spray on you all the time,” he said gruffly, releasing me and scruffing a hand through my hair like he had when I was a boy. He shuffled, eyes casting around. “I understand howimportant it is to you to do this yourself. But there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to be there for you when you need me, Reece. Please remember that.”
I sighed. What did I have to say to convince the people in my life that I would be fine? Was I burdened by the weight of being alive? Maybe. Did I look forward to finally being alone to sulk guilt-free and grieve the carefree future I’d hoped for? Sure.
But I wasfine, all the same.
“Thanks, Dad. Really. I’ll see you in no time,” I said, giving him a smile that would’ve felt disingenuous anyway, given the hour.
I climbed into my truck, anxious to get going. It was early, before sunrise, but I had a two-hour drive ahead of me on minimally maintained Forest Service roads. Once I reached the trailhead, it was another four-hour hike up to the tower, and I needed to be there in time to meet the helicopter.
I waved at Dad before driving off. His silhouette faded quickly through the trees, backlit by the warm glow of his cabin until he was just a dark shape in my rearview mirror, unrecognizable in the gloom.
Iam out of fucking shape.
Heaving for breath, I swung my backpack off my shoulders and pulled the bottom hem of my already-damp shirt up to wipe my brow. I’d become one with my couch entirely too much over the last five months and thoroughly regretted it now.
I grabbed my water bottle from the side pocket, took several big sips, and relished in the light breeze cooling my skin beneath the hot midday sun.
And I drank in the view before me.
Stunning.
Two hours into the hike to my lookout, a sharp curve northward led the trail through a break in the dense trees, spilling onto the shoreline of one of the most beautiful places I’d ever seen.
Lake Sapphire plunged deep along the heavily forested ridgeline, marking the true start of my ascent to the tower’s peak. As the crow flies, I wasn't very far at all from my destination, currently obscured by the towering treetops, but it would take me another two full hours to cover the remaining distance.
Carved by shifting ice-age glaciers thousands of years ago, Lake Sapphire earned her name from stunning postcard-worthy blue water, reaching depths of over a thousand feet.
In fact, it was one of the deepest bodies of water in the whole country.
Longer than it was wide, it snaked down through the mountain pass, flowing past the neighboring tower and out of the national park. Only the farthest western edge, where I now stood, was visible from my lookout.
I wouldn’t complain, though, because it was thebestpart of the whole lake. Why?
No one was in it.
To my great pleasure, motorized vehicles of any kind were prohibited within the national park, except for the scant government vehicle or necessary employee, like lookouts stationed at drive-in towers.
Otherwise, no cars, boats, or jet skis were allowed.
Or ATVs,I grumbled to myself, noting the very-illegally made tire tracks running through the dried mud along the lake shore.
Assholes. I’d report those.
There was a whole section of the massive lake outside the national park where people could boat and ski and drive around until they were blue in the face if they wanted. The point of the motor ban in the national park was to preserve the natural landscape and avoid disturbing the wildlife.
Fucking teenagers, probably.
Turning away from the cerulean waters, I swung my bag back onto my shoulders, ready to continue. I wouldn’t let it bother me—not when I had five glorious months without someone’s fucking leaf blower to listen to at all hours of the day.
Whoever invented them deserved a special circle of Hell all to themselves. Whywere they so loud? How much debris did my neighbors need to blow around all the time? Didn’t they know the wind would undo their hours of work in just a few minutes, anyway?
