Sometimes I felt like I was in a comedy sketch where they took shifts constantly running a leaf blower, just to see what I’d do.
Would it be considered destruction of property if Iaccidentallyran them all over?
I think a jury would understand. Even if they didn’t, it would probably be worth it.
“What’s he in for?”
“That’s the leaf blower basher.”
I’d be a king in prison with that title.
I snorted out loud at how ridiculous my thoughts sounded.
Shifting focus from the distracting noises I wouldn’t hear, I took another sip of water, tilted my head back, and relished the sounds I would.
Woodpecker. Song Sparrow. Some sort of small animal shuffling through the fallen pine needles—a squirrel, maybe? Or a chipmunk? It could be a marten. I hadn’t seen one in ages.
The forest was both pleasantly quiet and buzzing with sound, in the way only remote wilderness could be. The cry of a Red-tailed Hawk, unmistakable and often incorrectly attributed to Bald Eagles, sent a Stellar’s Jay squawking. The Black-capped Chickadees joined in with their alarmchick-a-dee-dee-dees.
And accompanying all of it, like the percussion section uniting an orchestra as one, the trees.
Tall and thick with minimal understory growth, this section of land was filled with groves of old-growth pine, conifer, juniper, and fir. The wind rustled their needles, a quietshhhhhthat made my shoulders drop from their permanently clenched position around my ears. Their broad trunks creaked and groaned as they swayed.
Yeah, I’d accepted the lookout job forthis.
I needed sound that wasn’t noise. I could already feel my blood pressure lower the longer I listened.
As rested as I’d ever be, I slipped my water bottle back into its pocket and started off on the final leg of my hike. Already looking forward to a great night’s rest, I couldn’t wait to crash into bed once all of my things were tucked safely in the tower or the utility shed.
I could even take it easy over the next few days, unpack slow, and relax. I had nowhere to be, no one to see, and nothing to do but watch over the forest, high above the trees.
Hopefully, it’d be a slow start to the season.
Ihadn’t realized how dark the trail up to the lookout was, tucked under the forest canopy, until the tree line abruptly ended.
Striding into the open, I squinted against the bright afternoon glare of the sun and brought a hand up to shield my eyes. Shouldering off my bag to catch my breath, I blinked, eyes adjusting to the overabundance of light until I could properly take in the view.
Breathtaking. Absolutely breathtaking.
If I thought the view of Lake Sapphire was something special, this… this was otherworldly.
An ocean of green treetops as far as the eye could see swayed in the breeze, only disrupted by sheer rock faces and cliffs jutting out haphazardly.
Birds of prey circled above, and a scattering of pillowy cumulus clouds hovered over the next ridge, pale against the bright blue sky. Off in the distance, I could see more moving in—massive looming thunderheads threatening the picture-perfect vista below.
Indeed, the western edge of Lake Sapphire hooked around the far eastern slope, disappearing into the next tower’s viewshed. The blue appeared even deeper from this height, almost as if it were painted into the landscape. With binoculars, I might even be able to see a small stretch of the Forest Service road I’d driven in on in the far distance.
Somehow, everything was smaller and so much bigger.
Views from a peak like this had always made me emotional, even as a boy. I couldn’t describe why, other than to say it wastoo much.As if I couldn’t fully comprehend the vastness of everything before me, my mind scrambled to take it all in at once, grew overwhelmed by the intensity, and all I could do to process was cry.
Most of the time, it was embarrassing. Now, though, I let my tears fall.
Although the tectonic plates of my own life had shifted, altering the topography of my future into something unknown,not yet recognizable, maybe even a little broken, at least this remained.
I turned, taking in the hulking structure of the lookout itself.
Reaching even higher into the clouds, Tower Seven, Dead Man’s Lookout,perched on reinforced wooden stilts forty feet above the rocky ground. A staircase zig-zagged up the center, ending in a wrap-around porch at the top. One door led into the square, fourteen-by-fourteen-foot cabin, located on the opposite corner from the stairs—probably so that lookouts wouldn’t step out onto the deck and immediately tumble down the narrow staircase.
