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marvel-redemption-omega · 4 years

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Of Outlaws and Family

Chapter One: New Beginnings

A/N: So I have RDR2 beat to 85% completion (the compendium isn’t finished but the story section is) and I CRIED when my precious Cowboy died! I had high honor and helped John so there was that at least I suppose... This has eight parts so uhh be prepared for this. It’s a helluva ride. It follows the story in the game for the most part, I changed some missions and added in a few for my own personal reasons (OFC x Arthur) so yeah... Don’t worry, there’s gonna be a happy ending! I promise. I have a lot of the story already planned it’s just a matter of getting the next chapters cranked out. Also Hosea and Dutch are a thing in my eyes... Dutch never corrected nor denied Hosea when he said “the curious couple and their unruly son” soooo I took it and ran.

I am from the south and I drop ‘d’s, ‘g’s and do a buncha (<- example) other stuff when talking irl so I’ve added that into the story and tried to keep the same type of dialect (is that the word I’m tryna think of?) as they have in the game with accents. I also am trying (and editing) the Irish accents I have for Sean and Molly! If you think anything can/should be changed, please lemme (<- another example) know! Or if you can’t figure out a word/phrase I’ll help or have it in parenthesis if I know some people might have a hard time getting the accent if they’re trying to speak it aloud to hear it for themselves (my friend does this occasionally).

Warnings: Cursing, typical gang violence (shoot outs/shoot ups/gangs,bushwhacking. etc), mentions of death/dead gang members

Please enjoy! Hearts and repubs are appreciated!

My work is not to be posted elsewhere; I will post it to my AO3 and dA if I so choose.

Word Count: 3,246

“Faster, Girl, faster! Go! We gotta get home before them!”

“You think you can outrun us? You owe us, Little Lady!”

“Get her!”

“Don’t let her get away!”

“Fancy, let’s go! Hyah!” She urges her horse on and leans forward, stirrups tied high on the sides of the saddle. The brown mustang tosses her head and breaks from her gallop to a flat out bolt. “Atta girl, c’mon.” The trees and rolling land all blurs as she and Fancy run along the road, she barely registers the white blip of a horse at the four way cross.

“Whoah!”

“Sorry, Mister! Can’t talk! Gotta run!” She turns slightly in her saddle to call the apology over her shoulder as her mare continues to carry her back home. The small band of people, behind the man she narrowly missed, watch her in curiosity.

“There she is!”

“Don’t lose sight of her again!”

“Try and cut her off before she gets over that hill!”

A group of seven men, each on their own horse, fly by as well, sparring not even a glance their way. The owner of the white stallion is stunned for a moment before he calms his horse and turns around.

“Bill, Micah, go after her and help with those damned O’Driscolls. We’ll continue on to get settled. Once we’re good, if they’re not back yet, we’ll go search for them. Come on,” he instructs and watches as aforementioned duo break off and tail the lady’s assailants.

“Dutch, why did you send them? You know how he acted with Mrs. Adler. Was it really wise to send both of them unsupervised?”

“Arthur, are you doubting me? We’re almost there and it shouldn’t take too awful long to set everything up so we won’t be too far behind them,” Dutch turns his horse back and clicks his tongue as they continue on.

“Looks like that was the last one, Ma. Want me to go start the bonfire?”

“Yes please, James. Take Fancy out to the paddock on your way. I left her hitched to the porch,” she answers and leans her gun against the wall. “I’ll get the horses that didn’t spook and start dragging these guys around back.” The boy runs out the back door and she can hear murmurs to her horse and the soft nickers in a sort of reply as he does as told. She sighs and opens her front door.

“Hello, Ma’am, we just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Seems like we didn’t need to come help.”

Two men push their way inside as she darts back towards her table, picking up a rope lying on it. She lassos one of them and yanks him to the floor, hog tying him as a shotgun clicks as it’s cocked. The other man holds his hands up at the boy who is aiming the gun at him, startling back a few steps.

“Bill! Don’t just stand there! Do something! Untie me!” the hog tied man grumbles as he rolls onto his shoulder to look at his friend.

“And end up shot or like you? No thanks, Micah. I’ll stay here,” he snips and glances down. She uses the moment of interruption to her advantage and lassos Bill too, dragging him closer before hog tying him as well.

“James, hun, go start that fire. We might have more than I thought,” she orders and takes the gun from him as he passes. He shoots a glare over his shoulder to the strange men and dashes out the back door.

Dutch and Arthur look at the house where Bill and Micah’s horses are grazing. Arthur gives him a pointed look, which Dutch sighs at. They climb down from their horses and lead them to the porch and try to quietly walk up, checking around them for any traps or followers. The door is slightly ajar and a women’s voice, the same from earlier, filters out.

“You two have some nerve. Now tell me, what does Colm want now? I done told him I ain’t joining his stupid gang and I won’t warm his bed. If you think that I’ll do it for either of you then you’ve got another thing coming and not even half a mind between the two of you!”

“Well, Darlin’, you might be right about that. There’s not half a brain betweenst those two, but I do take offense that too you think we’re with that dirty, yellow bellied scum, Colm O’Driscoll.”

“Who the hell are you?” A shotgun is pointed at the two newcomers, and Arthur’s lips twitch up as his and Dutch’s hands go up.

“Dutch Van der Linde and this here is Arthur Morgan. I sent Bill and Micah here to help you with those fools, after you nearly trampled me,” Dutch smoothly states, walking forward as he speaks. She backs up to the other side of the table and raises her brow.

“Ma! Ma! There’s two mo-” James freezes at the back door, eyes wide as all attention focuses on him. “They’re already here. What do you want with my Ma?! She ain’t got no money! She don’t want no dirty O’Driscoll!” He shouts and moves so he’s beside his mother, eyes narrowed.

“That’s a tough little boy you have there, Ma’am. What’s his name? And yours?” Dutch stands just on the other side of the table, hands still up, no move made to untie his men, nor is there anyone else in the house, and he hasn’t reached for his pistols either.

“James. His name is James. And I’m Scarlet. Scarlet O’Hara,” Scarlet lowers the shotgun and places it on the table. “So if you’re not with Colm, why are you here? My…” she hesitates and glances at James,” his father isn’t in trouble is he? He’s not part of a gang.”

Arthur and Dutch share a look, glance at the grumbling duo on the floor, and back to Scarlet. They shake their heads and James wraps his arms around his mother’s waist, head resting on her stomach. She wraps her arm around his shoulders and leans down to press a kiss to his mop of dark brown hair.

“Considering we don’t know his father, by name or otherwise? No, we aren’t here about him. When I realized you we’re running from O’Driscolls, I figured you might need help. So I sent these two men to try and help you; though from the looks of your yard and what you’ve done to poor Bill and Micah, well, you didn’t need our help.” Dutch has a way with words, Scarlett will admit that. He’s charismatic and charming, easy on the eyes too. She likes him.

“Well, Mr. Van der Linde, care to help me drag the bodies out back to the pit? We burn any ones that manage to get too close,” she offers and hands James a knife, motioning to the men on the floor. “Cut ‘em loose, but don’t cut them or yourself, James.” The boy nods and cuts the rope on their wrists and backs up to Scarlet, leaving them to cut the rope on their ankles. He sets the knife on the table.

“Damn woman put these too tight to slip out of,” Micah mutters under his breath as he slices through the rope on his legs. He gets to his feet and helps Bill up as well.

“I think we can help with that. Any chance of more O’Driscolls coming this way?” Arthur leads the group out the front door, glancing at Scarlet over his shoulder.

“Maybe. I planned on burning down the house and headed out tonight. I have a wagon down yonder with our stuff and a horse. I was gonna saddle up Fancy and Shamrock and sneak there with James,” she admits and ducks her head a little in embarrassment. Dutch studies her for a moment as they gather the dead men and move them to the backyard.

“I have an idea. You’re free to say no of course, but we could always use more people. We could help give protection to not only you, but to your boy too. James seems like a smart kid, we’ve got another boy just a little younger than him. I’m sure Jack would love to have someone his age to play and hang out with.”

Ooooh, curse this man’s charisma. He’s bound to know I’ll do anything for my boy. Curse him, Scarlet thinks, hesitating in kicking her guy into the small, dug out pit. James helps roll the guy down then busies himself with the O’Driscolls horses, leading them to the pasture as he talks to calm them. There’s kindling starting to catch the logs and clothed bodies of the dead already in the pit.

“I always said I’d never run with a gang, though I fear as I don’t have much other choice. Not now anyway. They won’t stop coming after me and it’s not like I can hide here forever. They’ll find me eventually. I can’t have that. They can’t find out about James,” she confirms, voice filled with conviction. She nods to herself and turns to face the four men. “Dutch Van der Linde, you have yourself a new member. Just tell me all I need to know.”

They finish up the litter of bodies as Dutch and Arthur list the rules of the gang and all it entails, or what they feel they can share around James, with some protest from Micah, then all head back inside. Scarlet ushers them to sit around her table as she fixes them lunch, sending James to feed and water the horses when he’s done with his plate, which he obliges without protest. She keeps busy by cleaning the dishes and packing them as the men talk amongst themselves.

When James comes back inside, having fed and watered the small groups’s horses too, Dutch suggests they head out. He volunteers Arthur to stay behind and drive the wagon when she decides to leave and join them. Scarlet thanks them and sends them on their way with a promise to not be too long with the last of the packing.

It doesn’t take too awful long to get three full double-saddlebags put on the horses. James is sent to lead all the horses to the fence and hitch them to posts in preparation of saddling. Arthur offers to help James and Scarlet nods in thanks as the males head out the back.

Once the trio of horses are saddled, Scarlet ties Shamrock’s reins to Fancy’s saddle horn so he doesn’t spook when she lights the house. She helps her son get into Fancy’s saddle and rubs the brown mustang’s nose, up the white blaze between her eyes.

“Stay, Girl. I’ll be right back. Calm,” she coos to the horse and steps away. Arthur is waiting in his saddle, Fancy’s reins in hand to keep her calm, though Scarlet is positive she won’t spook and tells him as such.

It takes less than two minutes for her to grab her hidden cash and light the bedroom on fire. She leaves the door open as she walks down the front porch and towards the five horses, two being ones from the O’Driscoll members. She climbs into the saddle and Arthur hands her the reins, James sitting in front of her.

“Let’s go get your wagon and then head out. I think we can make quick work of the trip,” he suggests and James tilts his head up to look at his mom.

“Can I ride by myself please?”

Scarlet bites her cheek and hesitates a moment before nodding and slipping from behind him. She unties Shamrock’s reins and tosses them over his head and neck before hopping to his back and adjusting in the barely used saddle. He startles a little but settles down once Scarlet gives his neck a pat and reassures him it’s only her.

“Alright. I’ll lead you to the wagon, and then we can tie those extra horses to the back side of it so they can’t run off. I can ride your horse or lead him back if I ride Fancy. James can ride in the back of the wagon. Shamrock will follow wherever his momma, Fancy, goes,” she plans, though she’s talking mostly to herself until the end, and walks Shamrock to the hitching post to take the reigns of the O’Driscoll horses. They toss their heads and nicker softly as she ties the reins to the horn, leaving plenty of slack so her legs don’t get caught. “That should do it.”

“Lead the way,” Arthur gestures for her to lead and watches as James clicks his tongue and Fancy prances up behind Shamrock. He follows behind the boy and mother, smile on his lips.

“You know, I gotta admit, that was some fine handling of gang members. You sure you’ve never ran with someone before?”

Arthur’s question startles Scarlet slightly and Shamrock spooks, prancing to the left and pulling the two tied horses with him. She rubs his neck and soothes him before straightening in the saddle and kicking him slightly. James lets the reins rest on the horn, hands rubbing Fancy down as he sings her praises.

“No. My brothers are part of one, or were. I’m not sure anymore, haven’t heard from them in awhile. My parents weren’t too happy bout it but they were grown and both could handle their own with the best of them. Last I heard from them, I think they was in Blackwater. But that were years ago. Long before I were even pregnant with James,” her eyes stay trained on Shamrock, blinking back the withheld tears.

The thoroughbred-mustang cross tosses his head and neighs at her discomfort, slowing from a gallop to a trot despite her order to sped up. He pulls enough so the reins are from her hands and he turns to look at her, nickering softly. Fancy speeds up to trot as close as she can beside them, gently nipping at Scarlet’s boot.

“Mama?” James inquires, concern and fear in his quivering voice. She slouches in the saddle, hand going slack on the reins. She leans forward and whispers something to Shamrock before sitting back, looking at her son with a sad smile.

“Just miss my brothers, your uncles….that’s all, James. I wish you coulda met them. I wish I knew what’s happened to them or at least where they are,” she admits and reaches into her shoulder bag. She drops one sugar cube into her right hand and leans forward to feed it to her stud. She holds her palm out for Fancy who happily eats it, then turns to each horse tied to Shamrock, coaxing them softly to take the sugar. She holds her hand out to Arthur who hesitates a moment. “It’s just a sugar cube, ain’t gonna poison your horse. I’d be stupid too,” she chuckles as he accepts the horse treat. His horse tosses his head as he pats his neck.

“Well, I guess you’re right. Can’t be too careful though,” he huffs a small laugh as he rubs his horse’s neck as it nickers happily.

“Mm. That’s the wagon, just ahead,” she nods to a wagon stashed between several trees and bushes. Arthur moves his horse to her other side to get a better look at where she’s pointing. It hadn’t been a far ride, and there’s a horse already tied to the front, pawing at the ground in wait.

“How did you get to own three horses? If you don’t mind me asking,” Arthur asks as they slow to a walk until they reach the tied wagon. Scarlet shrugs as she slips easily from the saddle and leads Shamrock to the back to tie him to one of the trees and undo the other horses.

“My mom. Fancy was hers. Well, technically my grandmother’s but when she couldn’t take care of them my mother offered to take them and well, when I was ready to leave she said I could have Fancy since she don’t ride no more. Said it would be good for her to be with someone she trusts and who would actually ride her and take care of her. She’s pretty old, thirty five or six I think,” she admits and kisses Shamrock’s nose when he puts his face in hers.

“Shamrock was born a few years after I was, so he’s roughly my age. Maybe five years younger. That,” Scarlet points to the horse on the wagon, “asshole is Shasta. He is a moody jerk who I sometimes have to fight just to put up for the night. I got him in a race. Before I were pregnant with James, I would race Fancy. Bets for money or horses were traded, depending on my opponent.

“So I beat the guy who owned him. I felt bad though cause Shasta was young then, only two at the time. His owner, a real rich prick, hit him in the face with the butt of his pistol. So I lassoed the guy off Shasta and hogtied him. Fancy just let me do my thing since she’s seen almost everything, my old girl.

“Shasta spooked so I tossed the guy on Fancy and caught Shasta, lassoing him and calming him. When I climbed into that man’s saddle, I swear he didn’t even have him broke, just listening out of fear. He immediately started bucking and kicking like crazy. I wore him down and tied him to Fancy so I could rid him of the horrid saddle. It was too big for his back! I beat the guy up a bit and yelled at him about his abuse of the poor horse and made him swear to be better. Then I looted the saddlebags and the guy for all he had on him and dropped him and his saddle on the side of the trail we were on after cutting his wrists free. I rode with Shasta tied to Fancy back to my old place and have had him since,” she recalls, chuckling at the memories of that day.

“Sounds like you like gettin into trouble, or at the very least, causin it. Should I ask Dutch to rethink this invitation? We don’t need any more trouble,” Arthur jests, climbing off his horse to help unsaddle the O’Driscoll horses.

“Nah. I’m not gonna be the cause of it. I usually just wind up pulled into it. We can change Shasta with these two so they can’t break away and run off on us. I’ll ride him and my two will follow. Unless you’d feel comfortable tying him to the back,” she rambles as she helps James into the back of the wagon before moving to help Arthur with the saddles.

“Two horses work better than one. I think I’ll let you handle unhooking Shasta though. Sounds like he’s a right brute when he wants to be,” he hefts a saddle and puts it in the remaining room in the wagon, ruffling James’ hair in passing. James sticks his tongue out at the man before clambering closer to the seat and waiting for them.

“Aha, yeah. You’re right. He’s a brute alright,” she chides and rounds the front of the wagon after adding the second saddle on top of the other one. “Go ahead and slip their bits out and I’ll settle Shasta, get him dressed in Fancy’s saddle.”

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yeet-or-be-hawed · 4 years

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Hunters of Flesh and Money Part 6 Arthur Morgan x reader

Fluff and Pining!

Arthur swallows his pride and reveals his feelings and Fletcher reveals her past and fears from the past.

Part 5

Masterlist

Sadie’s booming laughter was all but drowned out by La Bastille’s midday rush. The fancy saloon in Saint Denis was always bustling and lively where any outlaw could hide in plain site. You, Sadie, and Arthur were tucked into the round table in the corner and with the company of your two closest friends you couldn’t you couldn’t be bothered by the background noise and drunken patrons surrounding you.

Arthur rose from his chair. “You ladies ready for ‘nother round?”

“Do you really need to ask?” You said sarcastically.

He scratched his chin and gave you a smile, “guess yer right, I’ll be right back.”

As he turned to leave, your eyes trailed him. Sadie smirked, she could see the lazy smile tugging at your lips as you watched him leave and the way your eyes softened when they landed on him. “Fletcher,” she cooed.

Your attention snapped back to her, “what?”

“Don’t you play shy, you know what.”

You looked away but you couldn’t hide the rosy tint blossoming in your cheeks. “I surely don’t know what.”

She nodded in the direction of Arthur, “I know you’re sweet on him.” Before you could open your mouth to argue she cut you off. “Don’t you lie to me, I can see the way you look at him.” She leaned in close and her voice lowered. “And I know he’s sweet on you too.”

You eyed her suspiciously as you took the final swig of your beer. “And what makes you so sure?”

She rolled her eyes, “ain’t it obvious? I never see that man smile as much as I do when we’re all together, he plus you don’t see those puppy dog eyes he gives you every time you leave. He’s a fine man, ya know.”

You sighed. There was truth to what she said and you knew it. You noticed the way his cheeks flushed the night you kissed him at the Mayor’s party, you noticed the way he continued to hold your hand even after making it safely to the dance floor and how when his hand wasn’t curled around yours it was holding your waist tight. Most of all, you remembered the way time stood still at the end of the night, how he leaned down to kiss you- for real this time- just before being interrupted by one of the men he came with. Yes, you knew Arthur was sweet on you and you knew you were sweet on him. “Sadie, you remember what happened last time I let my guard down, how can I- how would I live with myself if I let myself get selfish and it happens all over again?”

Sadie nodded, “so you’re just goin’ ta live your life in fear of the ‘what if?’ Never gonna let yourself love again?” She put her hand on yours and pointed back to Arthur, when your eyes followed you saw him try and unsuccessfully flag down the bartender. He sighed, when he caught you and Sadie looking at him he gave you his infamous crooked smile before returning his attention to the bartender. “I know you loved her somethin’ fierce, but it’s been long enough. Not to mention Arthur can handle himself, I’ve seen that man gun down whole camps of raiders, he’s a survivor like you. He ain’t some flower you gotta protect.”

“Hmm.” You grunted as you stared down the empty bottle in your hands.

“Don’t ‘hmm’ me,” she said in that motherly tone that she used for scolding “you know I’m right so why not give yourself a chance at happiness? Just think about it, okay?”

You nodded slowly, “okay.” You grumbled. It’s easier said than done- putting aside your fears like that. But as you watched Arthur return to the table your heart fluttered and you knew you were in too deep to deny the feelings you had.

“Awright,” Arthur said as he placed another beer in front of you. “Sun’s a settin’ so this’ll be our last round.”

“Aww Arthur, I didn’t realize you was scared of the dark.” Sadie teased.

He rolled his eyes, “ain’t scared of the dark, our good friend Ms. Fletcher here was kind enough to lend us some supplies and I ain’t too keen on gettin’ bushwhacked.”

“Sure, that’s your excuse.” She said sarcastically. Arthur grunted and rolled his eyes to which Sadie laughed. “I know I know, I’m just jokin’. I’d say any carpetbagger who’s foolish enough to try and rob you two would have his karma swiftly dealt. The two of you would be a force to be reckoned with for the fool stupid enough to cross your path.” Sadie gave the tiniest of glances to you and you caught exactly what she was trying to say. Arthur completely missed the exchange for which you were grateful. You gave her a small smile, this was your answer, this was you giving in.

If you didn’t know any better you would say Sadie looked smug as she finished up her beer. “Awright you two, I’m headed back to camp. Give me a shout when you come into camp and I’ll help ya unpack.”

“Can do,” Arthur nodded.

Sadie threw you one more secret glance before turning to the door, “I’ll leave y’all to it then.”

As your eyes followed Sadie out the door, your stomach turned to knots.

“So,” Arthur said between swigs of her beer. “How’s the trade route goin’?”

You nodded. “Good, we’re finally startin’ to stockpile some money. Cripps mentioned movin’ up North, he’s got his sights set on New York.”

Arthur tried to keep his voice casual, “New York, huh?”

You scoffed, “yeah but I ain’t done here yet, I got people I care for.”

Your eyes caught his for a moment and moved away quickly. It relieved him to know you weren’t leaving.

“How bout you? How’s things goin’ with your group?” You asked.

Arthur stared down the bottle of his beer in thought. “Things ain’t.... like they used to be. It feels like I’m constantly on the run, and Dutch-“ he sighed. “I ain’t sure what’s goin’ on with Dutch. He’s changed, or maybe I’ve changed. It’s all so damn confusing.” He shook his head.

You placed your hand on his, it felt so natural. “It’ll be okay, Arthur. I’m here for ya. And if you ever need a place to stay, to get away from it all, I got an extra bedroll.”

It’s like he could feel the warmth radiating from your smile, he could feel it from your hand on his, sending a warmth over his body and thawing his frozen heart. You didn’t look away from him this time, you didn’t change the subject or even let go of his hand. You were holding his gaze now, and the adoration in your eyes were clear to even him- leaving him feeling the need to look away for fear of making a fool of himself.

It didn’t take long to finish off your drinks, midnight blue engulfing the flames of an orange sky.

“You still owe me a race,” you called as you mounted your horse.

“I do, don’t I?” He said as he trotted his horse beside yours. You pulled out your map and pointed to the spot just between the road and the U in Bayou Nwa. “We’re in the swamps this week, huntin’ gators and waterfowl. The folks in Saint Denis love that kinda stuff. How bout a race to camp?”

Arthur studied the map for a moment then nodded. “Got it, I know exactly where that is.”

You smirked, “it’s okay, I’ll be ridin’ ahead of ya so you don’t have to worry bout gettin’ lost.” And with that, you were off like a bullet out the chamber.

He rolled his eyes and with a sharp whip to the reigns his horse took off. His Arabian was a prize to be envied, and he would be damned if he let you win- he’s always had a competitive streak in him. His horse was gaining quickly, accelerating at a clean swift pace. He tipped his hat at you as he passed.

You grumbled, never being one who liked the taste of defeat- but you weren’t giving in just yet. Though he passed you, he wasn’t far ahead at all and Ophelia was still gaining speed. Just after crossing the bridge over the Kamassa River, you caught a tight spot to pass him and you caught the double take he gave as you passed. His Arabian may have a faster acceleration, but when your Fox Trotter hits her top speed she flies just as fast. It was still a chore getting used to such a fast horse, at such high speeds you gripped your reigns right for fear of flying right off the back end. “C’mon girl, we’re almost there.” You half whispered.

She grunted in response. You took a quick glance back to see Arthur was riding closer than you thought and you dug your spurs in just a little deeper. Camp was just on the horizon and you weren’t about to let him win. You could see the outline of your caravan and you smirked as you pushed your horse off the path through the trees, a handy short cut and with perfect timing- Arthur followed in right on your heels.

“Yahoo!” You exclaimed loudly as you entered the border of your ever traveling home.

Arthur rolled his eyes, still smiling. “Awright, awright you win.”

“And what do I get as a prize, Mr. Morgan?” You asked, adrenaline still pumping. You were standing closer to him than you intended.

He stumbled over his words for a moment, your closeness turning his brain to mush. “How bout this?” He reached in his satchel and pulled out some fine brandy.

“Oh,” you gasped and raised a brow at him. “Fancy.”

He chuckled and rubbed his neck. “Yeah, stole it off the train I-“ he stopped and scoffed. “I most definitely didn’t rob.”

You giggled, “most definitely.”

You turned to your camp and scanned it for Cripps. You rolled your eyes when you saw him slumped against a stack of crates. You approached him and Arthur walked two steps behind you. “Cripps,” you started quietly. “Cripps!” You said even louder and still no response. “Cripps!” You yelled as you softly kicked his arm.

He jolted awake in an instant. “What do- hey now, what was that for?”

“I take it since yer sleepin’ on the job you got Mr. Morgan’s order finished and loaded onto the wagon?” You asked, placing your hands on your hips.

“Oh. I er-“ he looked across the camp over your shoulder and you followed his gaze to the empty wagon. “There were some delays on the supplies, it should be ready to go first thing in the morning!”

“Ugh,” you groaned as you pinched the bridge of your nose. You turned back to Arthur. “I’m sorry about this, I’ll make sure it’s all ready to go at first light.” You looked up at the sky, only a sliver of orange still visible on the edge of the horizon. “Why don’t you stay here tonight? Ain’t no use in leavin’ just to be back here first thing in the morning.”

“You sure?” He asked. “I ain’t too far from here, I can always come back.”

“No!” You cringed and tried to force your tone to be more casual. “No, it ain’t no bother to have ya around, come on.” You turned to the campfire. “Let’s bust inta this winner’s brandy.” You took a step and turned back to Cripps. “As for you, I don’t want to see you slackin’ till this order is filled. Just because Arthur is our friend don’t mean he ain’t a payin’ customer.”

“Yeah, yeah I hear ya.” Cripps groaned as he stood.

With the guarantee of Cripps getting up and working you turned back to join Arthur by the fire.

“How much do I owe you anyways? I don’t remember discussin’ a price.” Arthur asked.

You opened the brandy, took a sip, and handed it to him. “You ain’t gotta pay me nothin’ I already paid Cripps for it anyways.”

He rolled his eyes and pulled out his billfold. “Cmon now, how much?”

“Nothin’ I already told you! Consider it payback for all the help you’ve given me since we met.”

Under the illumination of the campfire, he was washed in a golden light. You could see the reflection of the fire in his eyes, it left a gnawing in your chest. Your eyes were stuck on him as he lifted the bottle to his lips and took a sip.

He cleared his throat as he handed it back. “Fine, but I’m payin’ for the next round.”

“We’ll see.” You said as you lifted the bottle to your lips. The brandy burnt your throat as it went down.

“Hey now,” he exclaimed as he scooted closer. “We ain’t a charity, I got plenty of money and I-“ He was cut off by your chuckle. Your smile was wide, uncensored by your usual wary nature of him. Suddenly his mouth was very dry.

“I know Arthur. Just let me do somethin’ good for a good person.” Your gaze on him was tender, showing your emotion like this left you feeling vulnerable, raw, but exhilarating all at once. You handed the brandy back.

He scoffed. “Good? Who you kiddin’?”

“No one, what about you?” Your tone was now serious.

His eyes held yours as he took a swig and handed it back. “You may need to re-evaluate your definition of ‘good’.”

“Let’s see,” you said in between sips. “You took in Sadie when she needed ya most- and don’t say that weren’t you, we talk more than you think. You helped patch me up after the wolf fiasco, you helped me save Josiah, I’d say that’s plenty good.”

When you handed him the brandy, he didn’t move. His eyes remained on you, still processing the words you had said. It’s not like he could deny those things, but calling him a good man just felt wrong to him. But how could he argue with the words you spoke when your lips curled around them so gently, spoken so softly? He drank deeply. The fear of turning a fool melted in the heat of the warmth flooding his stomach. “Thank you,” he muttered.

Your hand cupped his and you tilted your head towards him, “of course.” You whispered.

And here you were again. Your face inches from his, staring at him with those big eyes, your thumb gently brushing against his hand. The heat in his stomach was boiling now, his desires were outweighing his apprehension. His eyes flickered to your lips and he saw your eyes mirror his. This was his sign, this what the approval he needed.

Your heart was pounding in your chest as he lowered his face towards yours. This was it, you began to lean towards him. As your eyes closed, you could feel his breath against you face and the alarms rang loud like the whistle of a train in your ears. You couldn’t breath and you jerked back before you could stop yourself. “I-I’m sorry!” You exclaimed, trying to catch your breath.

He sighed, his confusion and frustration building. He ran his hands through his hair. “Am I doin’ somethin’ wrong?”

“No it’s-“

“Just tell me one thing.” He looked at you with pleading eyes and took your hands in his. “Tell me you don’t think about me too.” His eyes dropped to the ground. His heart felt like it was going to jump out of his chest but he couldn’t do this anymore. He was ashamed of every word that fell from his mouth but he needed to know for the sake of his sanity. “Tell me I’m crazy, that I’m imaginin’ the looks you give me. Tell me you don’t care for me and I’ll stop. That’s all I need to hear because I cain’t get a read on you and it’s drivin’ me crazy.” He sighed a shaky breath. His face was red, he didn’t need a mirror to see. The heat burning his ears wasn’t from the fire or the alcohol. He wanted so desperately to run away. To hide behind a rock and never have to look into those eyes of yours again.

“I do,” you whispered. You looked at the spiraling clouds, midnight blue in a sea of black. “I spend more of my day with you on my mind than I do without. I care for you so much it scares me.”

His hand caught your chin and pulled your attention to him. “Then why? Why are you pushin’ me away?”

You leaned into his hand and closed your eyes. When you opened them, they shone with fear. “You ever loved someone so fierce you thought God himself couldn’t touch them? Thought your desire to keep them safe would be enough to stop a spinnin’ bullet, only have have them ripped away in an instant?”

His eyes shifted to the fire his hand returned to his lap. “I...had a son.” He paused, “and a woman.” He looked at you. “What bout you?”

You sighed. “Her name was Sable. She was bout the most delicate thing you ever did see, but she was feistier than hell. It was back in the day, I was young and stupid and I... I led ‘em right to her. Damn bounty hunters shot her because I wasn’t there.” You huffed in frustration. “I shouldn’t be like this, it was so long ago and I ain’t doubtin’ your ability to protect yourself but the thought of somethin’ bad happenin’ to you-somethin’ bad because of me? I don’t...” you trailed off.

He turned back to you and took your hand in his. “Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen to me, you hear? I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

And just like that, you arms were around his neck. He was caught off guard, your sudden movement nearly knocking him backwards. “Thank you.” You whispered into his neck.

He wrapped his arms around you tight, fearing you would be out of his grasp in an instant- but you stayed. Your shaky breath on his neck sent a shiver down his spine. Relief flooded over him as he looked off into the night sky. You gave the confirmation he needed, he didn’t need your affection to show it. You cared, and that’s enough for him.

The bells in your ears were silenced, replaced with the frogs and insects around you. “I’m sorry,” you whispered.

His fingers traced lazy circles on your back. “It’s okay.”

“Cart’s loaded up and ready to go!” Cripps shouted from across the camp.

His booming voice caused you to nearly jump out of your skin. You pulled yourself from his grip to shout back, “Thanks Cripps” sarcastically. You rolled your eyes and turned back to Arthur. “It’s getting late, we should probably...”

“Yeah,” he stretched as he stood. “You got that spare bedroll?”

“Sure,” you said and headed in the direction of your tent. You stopped as you stepped inside and turned to him. “Actually, I uh, think it might rain tonight. You want to come in here with me?”

Arthur looked at the clouds obscuring the stars, “sure.”

You nodded removed your gun belt and bandoliers, hung your hat outside, and sat on the bed to remove your boots.

Arthur approached the tent cautiously. He felt the need to avert his eyes as you removed your boots and socks, as if watching you remove even the smallest article of clothing would condemn him back to the campfire. He didn’t expect there to be a second cot, but still was taken aback by the single bed. He tried to calm his nerves as he followed suit and removed his various accessories and boots.

You were laying on your side, trying not to take up too much room on the small cot. You were no stranger to sharing a bed with others, so why was your stomach doing flips?

The bed was soft, far more comfortable than his. Even with you on the other side of the small cot, you were close enough he could feel the heat coming from your body. You only had one pillow, which you were graciously sharing. Your breath tickled the hairs on the back of his neck. How long had it been since he had shared a bed with a woman? How many years had it been since he could feel the heat of another human beside him? He had forgotten how comforting it was, to hear the even breathing of another soul beside him. He slept soundly through the night.

The first thing he felt when he woke up the next morning was your body curled against his back, huddled against him for warmth. The sun was just beginning to rise and the camp was bathed in blue light. He was careful getting out of bed, trying not to shift too much and wake you. He was quick to putting on his socks and his boots. Arthur stifled a yawn as he stepped out into the sunlight, making a beeline to the coffee percolator.

He took in the morning as he sipped on his coffee; Cripps was already up and about, songbirds filled the air with the melodies, Arthur recognized a few. The horses were restless, whinnying and panting-impatient for their breakfast. After finishing his coffee, he stretched his arms up towards the sky and got to work.

Your body was aching when you woke up, tense and tight from curling up into a ball in order to make as much room as possible. You stretched your arms out, and when you felt nothing but the cool bed beside you your eyes flashed open. Arthur wasn’t there.

You sat up quickly, but your fear was dissolved by a familiar whistle just outside your tent. You slipped on your boots and your belt and stepped out into the morning sun. You rolled your eyes when they found him, lugging a bale of hay to the horses. His back was to you, his shirt stretched tight over his shoulders, broad and strong; his life of hard work as evident as the pistol on his hip.

“Coulda left somethin’ for me,” you said standing behind him as he placed the hay bale on the ground.

He patted the suffolk punch and turned to you. “I could’ve, but...” he shrugged. “After these guys get done eatin’ we should be good to go.”

You nodded. “So then, we got time for breakfast?”

He scratched his chin. “Guess we do.”

“Great!” You beamed as you turned and hurried towards the fire.

Arthur didn’t fight the small smile that tugged at his lips as he watched you go, his anxieties seemed to be quelled, his mind wasn’t a tornado of fears and anger and torment, for once his mind was quiet. He wasn’t thinking about Dutch and his confusing schemes or Hosea’s worsening cough, he wasn’t thinking about the Pinkertons or the law. He was here, on a lovely summer morning with a lovely woman. One who understands him, doesn’t recoil in the face of his hideous truths. A woman who holds her ground and isn’t afraid to unleash hell, one he can rely on in a gunfight and be confident in the skills of his partner. His eyes flickered to his feet and back to you. He liked that, partner. Maybe not someone to hold or court, but someone to rely on and talk to, who has his back and is loyal to him. He liked that very much.

Breakfast was quick and simple- venison cooked over the fire and a can of beans. The ride to Shady Belle was not short on laughs and conversation, but it ended much sooner than you would’ve liked. Arthur parked the wagon just outside the treeline, a burly man holding a repeater called from the trees, “Who’s there?”

He rolled his eyes as he climbed down the wagon, “Arthur, dumbass.” He turned to you, “I’m goin’ to get Sadie to help us unload, you wait here and I’ll be right back.”

You nodded and watched him as he entered the trees. The man who called to him met him in the brush and you could make out more of what he looked like. “Who’s that?” The man grunted.

“A friend,” Arthur called over his shoulder as he made a beeline into camp.

The man grumbled as he stepped out of the treeline, clutching his gun tightly. You studied each other, and you noticed the regiment hat on his head- same as yours. You tipped your hat towards him. “Nice hat.”

“Oh, uh- thanks. You-you too.”

The two of you stood there in awkward silence for a few minutes, him clutching his gun and you slumped against the side of the wagon. The silence was finally broken when Arthur and Sadie reappeared from within the trees. Arthur slapped the man’s back. “Okay Bill, help us unload this here wagon.”

He groaned, “fine.”

Each of you grabbed a large carton of supplies, varying between food, dried goods, clothing, blankets, and other leather goods. Arthur led the way through the undergrowth, following a small trail that opened to the courtyard of an abandoned manor. Horses of all kinds were in the front lawn and as you passed the fountain, you could see many people bustling about the camp, you tried to ignore the feeling of eyes on your back. You kept your eyes forwards and ignored it to the best of your ability. Arthur threw down his carton and you followed suit. It took a few trips to unload the wagon, you wiped your brow as you stacked the last box onto the pile. “Okay,” you said after exhaling a large breath. “That’s all of ‘em.”

“Thank you, really. We appreciate it.” Arthur pulled out his billfold.

You placed your hand on his and gently pushed against it. “Like I said, you don’t owe me nothin’.”

Arthur looked at the stew pot then back to you. “Well why don’t you stay for supper? I know we give Pearson hell, but since you got us some good meat he can make a hell of a stew.”

You rubbed your arm self consciously. “I dunno, Arthur...” the longer you stayed the more eyes fell on you, some weren’t even being discreet. There were a couple of women about your age sitting under a canopy staring, and an older man sitting at the gazebo who’s stares were far from inconspicuous. “’Sides, I gotta make sure Cripps is keepin’ his side of the bargain instead of drinking himself into a coma.” you laughed.

Arthur’s gaze was soft on you, “Awright, well you know yer welcome to stay.” His arm looped around your waist as he led you back towards the woods, he knew you well enough to know you would be too stubborn to change your answer.

You swallowed as you walked with him out of the camp. You could feel your whole body relax as you disappeared into the trees and away from prying eyes. You allowed yourself to sink into his touch.

He smiled as you leaned into him, these were the little moments that had made his meaningless life feel renewed. The sun was dancing between the leaves of the thick foliage, golden streaks cutting through deep greens and specks of golden glitter in the sunlight. When the treeline broke, he felt his heart lurch. Watching you go was becoming his least favorite part of spending time with you.

You hesitated as you stopped in front of the wagon. It felt so nice to have his big arm around you, holding you tight. Suddenly you weren’t in such a hurry to escape to the comforts of your camp. Maybe the stares of strangers weren’t as terrible as having to leave this man’s side. You turned into him and wrapped your arms around him tightly. “Goodbye Arthur.”

He kissed the crown of your head lightly. “Goodbye, Y/N.”

“Come see me soon?” You said as you pulled yourself from his arms.

He nodded, “Course.”

You took his face in your hands brought his forehead to your lips. “I look forward to it.” You whispered.

He watched as you returned to the wagon and took off down the road from which you came. His eyes followed you until they couldn’t see you anymore. He felt light and airy, he rubbed his forehead and couldn’t stop repeating your last moments together in his head. Such a tiny gesture, kissing his forehead and yet it felt more intimate than any touch or kiss he’s felt from another. He trotted back through the trees feeling like a lovesick kid.

The quiet of his thoughts were interrupted the second he stepped back into camp, bombarded with a small crowd and their prodding questions.

“Who was that?” Karen asked.

“Is that that woman Sadie told us about?” Tilly asked.

“Oh, she’s gorgeous, Arthur! Are you in love?” Mary-Beth asked.

Arthur pushed back the small group and huffed. “None a yer business!” He called back to them as he made a beeline to his bedroom.

Hosea was sitting on the steps of the porch, Arthur held his breath in hopes he could get off without being questioned.

“Looks like a good one.” Hosea said as Arthur passed. He paused and Hosea said nothing else.

Arthur sighed. “Better than I deserve.” He responded quietly.

Hosea flipped the page of the paper he was reading. “You deserve this Arthur, and don’t go telling yourself you don’t.” Hosea stood without turning to Arthur. “I’m happy for you, son.”

Arthur opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out. He choked on words he didn’t know how to say and retreated to his room.

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgan x female reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead online #rdo #red dead online oc #red dead online fic #van der linde gang #hunters of flesh and money #multipart fic

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skylanders-after-the-end · 4 years

Text

Revenge

Déjà Vu opened her eyes. She was laying on a hard surface with a soft touch. The Skylander slowly lifted her head to find herself inside a small circular room surrounded by bookshelves. In the center she saw the backs of Spyro, Enigma and… herself? The timelord stood up and finally recognized the place. It was the house to which they travelled shortly to find the Book of Destiny. Seeing herself right in front of her made Déjà Vu realize that this must be another one of her time tricks. However, when she stepped closer to the trio of the past, she phased right through them, as if they weren’t even there. The Magic Skylander didn’t think much of it as the book attracted her attention instead. The pages were turning at such a fast pace that Déjà Vu couldn’t make out anything. Finally, it stopped. It was the same page and the same cluster of words scribbled onto it, just like the first time. Only this time something was different. She could read the words ‘An alliance destined to destroy’ once again, but soon another word was added to the sentence - ‘itself.’.

Déjà Vu opened her eyes. She quickly observed her surroundings. This time she was in bed inside a room of the Academy Hospital, which made far more sense. Nevertheless, the dream she just witnessed revealed something that none of them thought of. The complete sentence was ‘An alliance destined to destroy itself.’. The Skylanders figured out that the alliance was between Hex and Malefor, but they weren’t destined to destroy everything, they were destined to destroy each other.

Far away from the Academy, Spyro soared through the grey skies. His look going straight ahead as the wind rushed by. He occasionally had to flap his wings to keep himself airborne. Next to him appeared an airship which could barely keep up. Smolderdash was on top of it amongst other Skylanders. “Spyro, what are you doing!? We have to work together to-”

“I’m not following that plan!” The leader immediately denied.

Meanwhile Sprocket and Roller Brawl were inside the cockpit. The vampire struggled to steer the ship, but her time with the Superchargers didn’t leave her completely clueless. Sprocket was busy building the power-absorbing device from some of the parts from the destroyed Core of Light. It was a metallic spherical capsule, not much bigger than the engineer’s head, but it should be able to contain all of Hex’ immense powers.

The Skylanders originally wanted to use that to put an end to the witch’s undead reign, but Spyro had other plans. “They’ve gone too far they don’t deserve mercy! I will take care of them!”

Smolderdash was worried to hear such bitter and ruthless words from the dragon. He didn’t sound like himself. “Spyro please, you don’t want to do this!”

“I know exactly what I want to do!” The Magic Skylander constantly fought back the tears forming in his eyes. Cynder’s death broke something inside of him and the dragon was fueled by his overflowing emotions. He dived down and left his allies, going his own way. Down to the underworld.

Many years ago, when Eon just founded his heroic group of Skylanders, the leader first met the infamous witch Hex. She has been an undead for centuries and when Eon heard the stories of her battle with Malefor, he knew that he had to find her. Hex never stopped doing good and helping people, despite all the fear and distrust she received. Eon however was able to see through her gloomy appearance and frightening powers. He recognized her as the hero she was.

Eon recruited Hex and soon invited her to the Academy which was almost done with construction. The present Skylanders were quite wary, some even scared, but they trusted their master. The dark sorceress was just as cautious as everyone else, she learned to not trust anyone, even heroes. She was surrounded by suspicious looks, but she didn’t bother to appeal to any of them.

While Eon introduced the witch, Spyro was the only one to step forward and properly welcome her. “Hello! I’m Spyro, the first Skylander Eon recruited and kinda the leader here.” His cocky grin and wide eyes surprised Hex, but not enough for her to return a smile.

Eon then retreated to his office and left Hex alone in front of the crowd. While all eyes were set on her, she just asked one simple question. “Where do I reside?”

Spyro called Chop Chop over who would guide the fellow undead to her room. She didn’t speak to him nor anyone else on her way there.

The other Skylanders stayed at the center of the Academy and immediately began gossiping about their latest member. “Where did Master Eon find that one?” Stealth Elf was anything but thrilled with the new face. “I avoid judging a book by its cover, but I can’t help it if it’s locked with black leather belts.”

“Go easy on her Elf. I’ve heard the stories too, how she joined Malefor and cursed her village, but if Eon trusts her then we should too.” Spyro looked across the Academy and spotted Cynder talking to some fellow Skylanders. Lost in thoughts, he only kept his eyes on her. “Things are not always as simple as they seem.”

In present day, amid a raging blizzard was a singular air balloon struggling to stay on its course. Enigma did his best to stay inside the aircraft and prevent the countless snowflakes and sharp winds from tearing through the balloon. The Trap Master received a message from his Traptanium sigil, and it led him to this area. His fear of heights had already vanished, all he wanted was to make it through the storm alive.

When the sorcerer finally spotted an island covered in snow, he used it to land the balloon and get out. He spoke a quick spell that engulfed the air balloon with an aura which kept it in place so it wouldn’t get swept away. The Skylander’s cape was flowing in the wind and he had to remain balanced to not get blown away himself. He couldn’t give up now, he felt that this was important. Enigma kept following the glowing light of his sigil which became brighter with each step he took in the right direction. The Trap Master had to jump from island to island until he eventually reached a larger one. His staff glowed brighter than ever before. That’s when Enigma knew it, he found what he was looking for.

The Magic Skylander saw a familiar body dressed in white in the freezing snow, it was almost invisible. Upon closer inspection however, the sorcerer gasped in shock. It was Knight Light, but in the place of his wings was a large red stain which colored the snow underneath as well. Enigma fell onto his knees and carefully touched the fallen Skylander. He couldn’t bear the wind blowing against his hood anymore, so after many years of anonymity, he took it off. He revealed his blue skinned face and pearly white hair which followed the raging winds. His white eyes stared at the unconscious angel with worry. He didn’t know what happened, but he knew that he had to get him back to the Academy as quickly as possible.

The bars between Dr. Krankcase and Boom Bloom were lowered. The Doom Raider was back inside his cell despite all his efforts to help the Skylanders.

“Are you sure I have to go back here?” The mad scientist didn’t expect much, but he did hope that his actions would change something. “I mean, didn’t I redeem myself now?”

Boom Bloom sighed. Even though she had a better understanding of her creator and decided to bury the hatchet, she remained wary. “One good deed cannot erase all your bad ones. I’m sorry.”

As the plant mutant was about to walk away, she felt something grabbing her hand. She turned her head to see Krankcase with an awkward yet somewhat calming smile on his face. “Hey, I’m… sorry about your friend.”

The Life Sensei appreciated the gesture and gripped his hand in return. “Thanks.”

The Skylander left while Krankcase looked after her longingly. It was still a long way to redemption but having a genuine connection to his most beloved creation was enough to satisfy the scientist for now.

Meanwhile at the prison cafeteria, a few Skylanders struggled to keep a bunch of villains at bay. They all had to move there due to the lack of cells for the cursed Skylanders, so now they were all free and eager to escape.

Snap Shot was sitting on a bench with his arms crossed and smirked upon the sight of the excited villains while Bushwhack and Head Rush tried their best to restrain them. “You think they’ll manage?”

Wolfgang, who was sitting on top of the table next to the reptile, tilted his head slightly. “Hard to tell, maybe if they served tacos they could calm them down for a while.”

The two laughed and continued to joke around. Head Rush desperately scanned the room until she laid her eyes on the duo. She approached them, making their smiles fade more with each step. “Snap Shot, we need your help!”

Snap Shot gave her a baffled look and thought he wasn’t hearing correctly. “You need my help? For what?”

The Trap Master hated to admit it, and since Snap Shot was a prisoner this was a very unprofessional decision, but after thinking it through once more, this was really the only solution she could come up with on the spot. “You need to calm the villains down. You used to be our leader you have to do something now! Please!”

Wolfgang started to cackle immediately, but Snap Shot didn’t laugh, he didn’t even smile. He looked at Head Rush and then stared at the countless villains swarming through the cafeteria like headless flies. Wolfgang’s laughter ceased when he saw that the crocodile was actually thinking about it. What else was there to lose?

Snap Shot finally stood up and stepped into the crowd. He hopped onto a table and unleashed a high-pitched whistle. All the villains halted and stared at the blue reptile, who admittedly didn’t know what to say now. “Hey everyone!” Snap Shot didn’t sound very convincing, but after throwing the equally clueless Wolfgang a look, he had a moment to think of something. “So, I know that today is very exciting for all of us.”

“Who let the Ex-lander talk!?” A voice yelled before the crowd giggled.

Snap Shot ignored the comment and moved on. “I know you have no reason to listen to me-”

“Then why are you trying?” Another insult that lead to a wave of laughter.

“Because I know what you want.” Snap Shot silenced the crowd with a sharp response. “You want to get out, and now seems like the perfect time since half of the Skylanders are locked up and you’re here.” Snap Shot took a breath before continuing. Surprisingly, no one interrupted him this time. “But take it from the guy who locked each one of you up at least once, this is not your way out. The Skylanders will always find you, it may not be fair, but it is what it is. You’re all here for a reason and the fastest and easiest way for you to get out is if you stay patient and prove that you’re worthy of your freedom. And wouldn’t it feel so much better knowing that you’ve earned it? Finally being able to live without the constant fear of being imprisoned?”

The crowd was silent and even the Skylanders and Wolfgang were impressed by Snap Shot’s speech.

Before he went on however, Snap Shot cleared his throat and decided to finish. “So, what do you say, will you choose the path of reformation?”

There was a moment of looming silence. The villains blankly stared at the reptile and his eager eyes. In a split second everyone went back to running amok and forgot every word Snap Shot just said.

Wolfgang and Snap Shot made their way to the cafeteria entrance and rushed outside, locking the doors behind them. They looked at each other briefly before bursting into laughter.

“Ya really thought that would do anything?” Wolfgang grabbed his stomach as he spoke through his laughter.

“Nah, but it was worth a shot.” Snap Shot calmed down for a second before starting to cackle again.

Wolfgang opened his eyes and looked at the amused reptile just for his own laughter to cease. It wasn’t often that he saw him like this. Ever since they met, Snap Shot was either mad, frustrated or sad. But now the werewolf saw something he had never seen before. Happiness.

As Snap Shot’s laughter toned down as well and he looked at the mesmerized wolf, they both just stared into each other’s eyes. One pair of striking yellow eyes with the typical slit pupils and a pair of dark brown eyes with deep black pupils. Wolfgang suddenly moved his head forward and pressed his lips against Snap Shot’s. It was a brief, surprising kiss and the werewolf pulled away almost immediately.

The two stared at each other once more and Wolfgang was anticipating a reaction, but nothing happened. He became insecure and thought that he had made a mistake. “I- I shouldn’t have done that. You must hate me-”

Before the musician could say another word, Snap Shot pulled his head closer and returned a longer, more passionate kiss. Their lips parted after a few moments and they looked into each other’s eyes again. There was no tension, no insecurities, just a warm feeling which the two of them could feel throughout their entire bodies.

While Spyro and the other Skylanders headed off to look for Hex, Tidepool used the opportunity to look for Wild Storm instead. The Water Skylander followed the footsteps that he left behind while sprinting off in his beast form. All she wanted was to help him, yet she felt terrible. The Sensei disregarded his feelings and let her emotions get the better of her. She thought the knight was the one drifting away, but it was actually her all along.

Tidepool soon found the rogue Wild Storm on a small abandoned island. She noticed that he was struggling. Struggling for control, or perhaps to transform back? She didn’t know why his beast form was taking over, but she wanted to be by his side. “Wild Storm!”

The beast swung his large head around and stared at the Quickshot with his glowing white eyes on top of his mask. He then turned back around before starting to shake and flinch. Tidepool saw that he was slowly shrinking, but moments later he grew right back to the beast’s size.

“I know you’re in there! You don’t have to run away from me, we can do this together!” Tidepool looked for the right words to calm him down, but the beast only responded with an agonizing roar. “Please Wild Storm, I’ve lost you once, I can’t lose you again! Come back to me, please!” Tidepool’s eyes teared up as she moved closer to her friend step by step.

Wild Storm kept on flinching and fighting with himself, but the Sensei didn’t back off. She carefully reached out to him and was about to touch his back, when suddenly Wild Storm erupted in a tremendous roar. Tidepool fell back on her rear and watched as he slowly transformed back, falling face front to the ground.

“Wild Storm!” Tidepool rushed towards her companion and fell onto her knees before grabbing his arms. She turned him around to see that his eyes were closed. He was unconscious. She looked down and spotted a dart stuck inside his leg. She pulled it out and inspected it. There was a symbol inscribed into it, a symbol that caused Tidepool to gasp and drop the dart. She quickly turned her head, anxiously looking into every direction.

There was fear in the Skylander’s eyes as she was shaking the knight. “Wild Storm wake up! We have to go, please wake up!” Tidepool kept looking around herself in distress. Something wasn’t right. She continued to shake Wild Storm until he finally opened his eyes. “Thank the ancients! We have to go, now!”

Tidepool placed the Air Skylander’s arm around her shoulders and lifted him up. Wild Storm was quite big and thus heavy to carry, but he soon regained his senses and used his own feet to get back up. While Tidepool still had to assist him, he could walk on his own. The Water Skylander didn’t stop observing their surroundings, all the way until they’ve reached the Academy. Only once they entered the collection of buildings and towers she exhaled with relief and helped Wild Storm get to the hospital.

Once Wild Storm was taken care of, Tidepool exited his room and wandered through the hospital halls. She held the dart which the knight got shot with in her hand and kept staring at it while turning it with her fingers. She peeked through a window to look back at the vast area outside where the Air Skylander was mysteriously assaulted. A haunting feeling overcame the Sensei. She was frozen in place and just thought about that moment, that dart. Tidepool quickly shook it off and continued walking, she couldn’t concern herself with that now.

In another room, Whirlwind and Buckshot were standing next to a silver iron table. There was a white cloth covering a figure on top of it. The dragoness couldn’t hold back a tear from running down her cheek while the faun looked down in devastation. They knew what it was, but neither one could bring themselves to say it.

The quiet somber moment was disturbed by the sound of doors being slammed open and hasty footsteps. The Skylanders turned around to see Enigma, surprisingly without his hood, carrying a blood-soaked Knight Light in his arms. “Someone, please help!”

“Enigma!?” Whirlwind was perplexed by the sight of the Trap Master’s striking white hair and pale blue face. No one has seen him like that before. The dragon then directed her attention to the unconscious angel instead. “What happened?”

“I’m not sure. He probably fought his former Guardian companion and she took his wings.” Enigma was out of breath, he explained everything as quickly as possible so they could move on to saving Knight Light. The Magic Skylander placed his friend onto a hospital bed and blankly stared at his motionless body. “He’s lost so much blood, I don’t know if it’s too late.”

Buckshot pressed his fingers against the patient’s neck. “He has a pulse! We can still save him!” Whirlwind hurried to grab her medical instruments and potions and immediately called for backup.

Buckshot didn’t work at the hospital, he just followed Whirlwind to support her after the tragedy. Enigma observed as the hybrid and many helpers consisting of mabu, foxes and even Skylanders surrounding Knight Light. The sorcerer had to move a strand of hair out of his face and back into his loose backwards hairstyle. He then turned his head to see many more Skylanders laying in bed with injuries, and finally the table covered with the cloth. “What happened here? Did you stop Hex?”

“No, they are looking for her and Malefor as we speak. The corrupted Skylanders are all locked up. But…” Buckshot slightly turned his head to see the haunting cloth out of the corner of his eye. “We’ve had losses.”

Enigma set his white eyes on Knight Light again. Seeing him there all butchered and on the verge of life and death, it made the Trap Master feel terrible. He was the last Skylander to see him, he knew that Angelica had it out for him, yet he ran away. Not this time. He couldn’t run away this time. “I have to go.”

Enigma swiftly walked out of the hospital and left the Academy behind once again. He used the same air balloon as before to fly off. His fear of heights was always there, looming over him like a dark cloud, but his determination was stronger. Enigma wasn’t sure where he’s headed, but he knew what he was looking for and why. He would make it up to his friend.

Back when Hex first joined the Skylanders, it didn’t take her long to earn the role of the loner. She never talked to anyone unless it was necessary, she disappeared as soon as she returned from a mission and no one dared to get close to her due to her immense and terrifying powers. One day, Cynder decided to change that.

The dragoness knocked onto a dark wooden door inside the Academy. Back then, the Skylanders didn’t have their Elemental Realms to reside in yet. Nevertheless, Hex isolated herself by choosing a room which was located in the most abandoned corner of the Academy. Cynder did that too at first, but she moved closer to the center when she became more comfortable being around the Skylanders.

“Hex?” Cynder slowly moved her head through the door to see Hex with her back turned towards her. She was standing in front of a large black cauldron with a glowing green substance inside.

Cynder was about to leave, but the sound of the witch’s gloomy voice stopped her. “Come in.” Cynder did as she was told and closed the door behind her.

The room was simple. It had a dark stone floor and walls, just like the rest of the Academy. Hex put some furniture inside as well, all made of dark wood with gothic accents. As an undead, she didn’t really need any basic things that mortal beings did, such as a bed to sleep in or a table to eat at, but nevertheless those objects were there. Cynder stepped towards the sorceress and her cauldron in the middle of the room and peaked inside to see the color of the substance shift from toxic green to a warm orange.

“Why are you here?” Hex kept circling her hands above the cauldron to stir the liquid while speaking to Cynder without looking at her.

“I don’t mean to bother you, but I just want to… talk.” Cynder abruptly moved out of the way when a lid zoomed past her and landed on top of the cauldron.

“Talk about what?” Hex finally directed her sight to Cynder just to show her cold neutral expression. Not a hint of emotions in her eyes.

“About you.” Cynder gulped as Hex floated towards a chair next to the table. “You’ve been here for some time now and you’ve barely talked to anyone. I mean, you don’t have to, I get it really.” Cynder remembered how she also refused to communicate and bond with the Skylanders when she first arrived. “I just want you to know that we’re your friends and you have nothing to be afraid of.”

“I’m not afraid.” Hex stopped in front of the dark table and turned her head. “But you are. Everyone is.”

Cynder didn’t expect to hear that. “I’m not afraid of you, nor are the others! They’re just-”

“Suspicious because of the stories.” Hex finished the sentence. “Fear and hate, those are the only two things I’ve been met with for the last centuries. I didn’t expect it to be any different here.”

“But why?” Cynder was confused. “Eon trusts you and you’re doing good things, I’ve seen you on your missions. Why is everyone afraid of you?”

“I wish I knew.” Hex sighed as she pulled out a chair and lowered herself onto it.

Cynder thought for a moment. She heard the other Skylanders talk. Talk about the stories of Hex and how she joined the undead just for the sake of power. Yet she’s here, as a Skylander. Cynder just couldn’t see her being evil. “What about those stories everyone keeps talking about?” The dragon hesitated to continue, but after taking a breath she finally asked what’s been on her mind all along. “What about Malefor?”

Hex looked at Cynder, she saw the eagerness in her eyes. She didn’t just want to know the truth, she wanted to know about Malefor. “Do you want to hear my story?”

Cynder nodded and got closer before lying down in front of the witch.

“Ever since my transformation, rumors about me joining Malefor to gain more power spread like wildfire. The people of my village accused me of cursing them, making their crops decay and children fall ill. I can’t say for sure if it truly was due to my powers or an average plague, all I can say is that I didn’t do it on purpose. I was unfamiliar with my undead powers at that time.” Hex thought back to the day where her once closest friends who she considered family dragged her out of her house and attempted to burn her alive. “After I was cast out, I spent many years alone, mastering my newfound witchcraft. I could not reverse the transformation, so instead of fearing it, I controlled it. That only made everyone more afraid. They forgot who I used to be and only saw a frightening witch casting dark magic, they didn’t feel safe. Nevertheless, I remained loyal to my oath to protect the innocent people of Skylands, whether they like it or not.”

Cynder saw Hex in a completely different light. She was misunderstood and did everything she could to prove that she wasn’t evil. It reminded the dragoness so much of herself. “And what about Malefor?”

“Malefor was the reason for all this.” Hex looked down at her ashy blue hands and dark robes. “But not in the way everyone thinks. He found out about my great amount of power when I was still a mortal and tried to hunt me down. Many people were hurt and lost their lives because of that, until one day I’ve decided to put an end to it.” The sorceress remembered that day like it was yesterday. The day where everything changed. “I descended into the underworld and gathered all my strength to face him. We fought for hours, I lost the hope of making it out alive, but somehow I did.” Hex looked Cynder right into her anticipating eyes. “I defeated Malefor.”

“It was you.” Cynder exclaimed with awe in a whispering tone. She was the one who defeated her tormentor, she was the one who freed her from his influence. Hex helped Cynder become who she was today. “Then what happened?”

“Due to the raw undead magic of the underworld and Malefor I was changed. I became an undead myself and my powers got corrupted. When I returned, I told everyone that I’ve defeated Malefor just like I said I would, but they didn’t believe me. They thought I joined him because of my appearance and increased powers. That’s when it all came crashing down.” Hex arose from her chair just for Cynder to follow her. “And that’s the true story.”

“I can’t believe it.” Cynder was in shock. “All this time you’ve been accused of joining Malefor when you’ve actually freed me- everyone from him!” The Undead Skylander looked emptily through the room and got an idea. “We have to spread that story!”

“It’s no use.” Hex stopped the dragoness from running outside and fulfilling her idea. “I told many people this story, you are the first one to believe me. And besides, this has nothing to do with Malefor anymore. They believe I’m evil on my own accord.” Hex looked down to the ground. “I’ve learned to live with it. It doesn’t matter what they believe, all that matters is the truth.”

Cynder was disappointed, but also understanding. She knew best how hard it can be to convince others that you’ve changed, no matter how hard you try. She nodded and smiled and gave Hex one last look before leaving her room. “Thank you, Hex. For everything.”

This was the first time anyone’s thanked her in centuries. Hex couldn’t help but feel somewhat warm inside. A feeling she hasn’t felt in a long time and which she’s dearly missed. Perhaps she wasn’t completely alone after all. Perhaps there was still hope left.

After many hours of flight Spyro finally reached the underworld. The airship with the remaining Skylanders and the power sphere followed, but they couldn’t catch up to him. The dragon flapped his wings rapidly, almost manically. So many thoughts rushed through his head. He was sad, angry, disappointed, frustrated, but there was no time to waste on that. He couldn’t grief his friend, not yet. He had to find Hex and put an end to her and Malefor’s wicked scheme.

The Magic Skylander passed many places throughout the haunting realm. Some familiar, some not. All until he finally reached the one he was looking for – the Creepy Citadel.

Hex was still in the throne room of the citadel. Neither Malefor nor any Skylanders have arrived. She was all alone, thinking. Was this truly what she wanted? Would she be the Skyland’s greatest villain? Hex thought she was certain about her decisions, but she was beginning to doubt herself. During that quiet moment, there was a crashing sound above her, and the witch immediately looked upwards. Spyro flew through a newly created hole in the ceiling as he charged towards Hex with flames in his mouth.

The witch easily blocked the attack with her magic. Spyro soon landed on the cold ground and continued to furiously shoot fireballs. Hex already created a bone wall in front of her and cast a spell to deflect the projectiles. The purple dragon spread his wings and was about to rush towards the villain until a giant claw abruptly pinned him down from above.

Malefor arrived just in time to stop the Skylander from going after the sorceress any further. “My, my, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this angry.” He grinned as the small dragon squirmed and clenched his teeth trying to break free.

“Of course he is, his friends have been turned into mindless monsters.” Hex stayed calm as usual in the presence of others. She couldn’t reveal the thoughts and feelings going through her head. “And he’s here to take us down, isn’t he?”

Spyro grunted before finally giving up trying to break free from Malefor’s grasp and stayed put, still as furious as ever. “What do you want!? Haven’t you done enough damage already?”

“Nothing will ever compensate for all the suffering I had to endure!” Hex made her point clear. “There’s nothing you can do to stop me, and if you dare to try, I will repeat the curse once more until there’s none of you left.”

During the confrontation, Smolderdash, Sprocket and Roller Brawl quietly landed their ship at the very back of the citadel and carefully made their way to the heart of the building where the throne room was. Sprocket carried the power sphere which could absorb Hex’ powers. This was their only chance.

“What will you do now, huh!?” Spyro’s eyes were filled with rage, they lit up like flames. “Are you the new Undead Queen? Will you turn the Skylands into a barren wasteland? Tell me!”

Hearing the Skylander refer to the witch as the Undead Queen didn’t sit right with Malefor, but he held himself back. Hex clenched her fist as she floated towards the dragons. “I will make sure that you suffer like I did for all those centuries. I always had to take things as they came, I had no choice. Now neither do you.”

“Was it your choice for Cynder to die!?” Spyro couldn’t hold his tears anymore and shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice breaking in the process followed by a stuttering breath.

Hex’ eyes widened. Spyro’s devastated look was enough for her to know that he was telling the truth. “What?” For the first time she was caught completely off guard. This was not part of the plan. “She can’t be dead, that’s-” The witch suddenly stopped. There was only one reason why that could’ve happened, and Hex moved her head up to look into its spiteful eyes. “You…”

Malefor returned a blank stare followed by a sick smile. “Guilty.”

Hex began to move backwards. She thought she had everything under control, but this wasn’t supposed to happen. “I told you to not kill any of them! You were supposed to scare them, nothing more! And out of all you chose Cynder-”

“Did you actually believe I would listen to you?” As the dragon was talking to the distraught witch, the trio of Skylanders that carried the power sphere have reached the throne room and hid behind the crumbling dark walls. “You may be more powerful than me, but even you cannot stop me this time!”

Sprocket held the sphere tightly in her hands and carefully peeked through a hole in the wall, followed by Smolderdash and Roller Brawl. They were told to use the weapon when Hex is distracted, so they were ready to strike at any moment.

“You never had any control over me, Hex!” The dark sorceress’ sight went from Malefor’s triumphant visage to the ground. She didn’t know what to do. “In fact, I have been controlling you the entire time! You were too blinded by vengeance and hatred to realize. This is what I was striving for all along, for you to break and turn against everyone until eventually your rage wears off and I finish what you started. You were only the means to an end, you always have been.”

Tears were streaming down Spyro’s face as he was still trapped under the giant dragon’s steel claw in a fury of anger and sadness. He then noticed that his companions were present and visible behind the wall. Malefor’s eyes spotted them too and the three quickly ducked down, but he already saw them. Instead of attacking however, he continued to speak down on Hex. “And I’m sure you all wonder how Hex got through the shield at the Academy. The Skylanders did remove her page from the book, but that didn’t matter. It’s because deep down she still believes she’s a Skylander. She wants to believe. No matter how wicked or cruel she may be, at the end of the day all she wants is to be a hero.” The Undead King kept his eyes on Hex, and it seemed like he was able to see right into her soul.

The witch moved her head back up with a death stare. She glared at Malefor as he was teasingly smiling to her face. In his silver armor plates, Hex saw the reflection of Sprocket who slowly approached her from behind. The sorceress turned around and reached for the Tech Skylander to grab the sphere she was holding with her magic. Sprocket fell with shock as Hex’ dark magic engulfed the device in mid-air. Roller Brawl and Smolderdash revealed themselves too and huddled around the engineer, watching their last chance at victory hover in front of their eyes.

“Destroy it Hex! This is their last shot!” Malefor lost his attitude upon seeing the sphere. He knew exactly what it would do to Hex, and even worse to him, if the Skylanders get to use it.

“Go ahead, Hex. You’ve won.” Spyro spoke words no one ever hoped to hear. “You did it, you’ve defeated the Skylanders. There’s nothing standing in the way of your revenge now.” He has never sounded this defeated, he just embraced his fate.

Hex only focused on the sphere. The Skylanders’ terrified expressions and Spyro’s hopeless look surrounded her while Malefor’s sinister eyes were looming over her. She had to decide. The witch then proceeded to raise her other arm and suddenly unleash a powerful beam of magic at the device.

Malefor’s first eager smile curved into a frown when he realized what was happening. “No!”

Spyro, Sprocket, Smolderdash and Roller Brawl observed the bright beam which enlightened everything around Hex alongside a mighty gust of wind.

Hex remained steady and kept emitting more and more undead magic towards the power sphere. She wasn’t destroying it, she was using it.

Malefor raised his claw and freed Spyro from his grip. The smaller dragon stayed in place and just watched in awe while the wind blew the tears out of his eyes. “Stop it, you foolish witch! You will destroy us both!” The dragon attempted to get closer, but the force of Hex’ powers was so strong that he couldn’t move an inch.

While she kept on feeding the device with her magic, the witch slowly turned her head and looked Malefor dead in the eye one last time before turning back towards the sphere.

Malefor eyes widened in horror before he looked behind himself. His long sharp tail suddenly started to deteriorate and turn into dust which was immediately blown away by the wind. “No!” The dragon screamed in agony as more and more of his body decomposed and he soon fell to the ground after losing his legs to hold himself up. The Undead King roared horrendously as his entire body, up to the final tip of his horn, turned to dust and the dragon ceased out of existence.

The undead magic exiting Hex with ghastly and frightening sounds began to change her as well. Her dress shifted from the raven black colors to a pale blue and the horns of her headdress turned into black strands of hair. She blinked and instead of the white glowing eyes she had blue irises surrounded by a minty green skin. Finally, all the magic has left Hex’ body and was stored inside the sphere. The metallic orb fell down with a clang as it was radiating undead energy. Hex slowly sank to the ground as well before falling onto her knees. She was back in her mortal state. No powers. No curse. “It’s over.”

While the Skylanders stared at the witch and were paralyzed, a sparkling purple flame engulfed the villain before making her disappear into thin air. Spyro was in his awakened form and used his teleportation ability to send her right to Cloudcracker Prison, just like the Doom Raiders the first time. His transformation didn’t last long and with a bright light he changed back, huffing and breathing heavily. “It is.”

The Skylanders cautiously approached the sphere which was already shifting into a darker shade due to the immense undead powers it absorbed. Sprocket used her energy glove to create a containment capsule around it. “This should keep it safe.” The engineer grabbed it before looking at her allies with relief.

Spyro inhaled. Malefor was gone, Hex was defeated, and her powers were concealed. It was over. One more time the leader thought about the phrase he read in the Book of Destiny. Now he realized that it was never complete, there was always a part missing. “An alliance destined to destroy itself.”

At Cloudcracker Prison, all the imprisoned Skylanders who have been affected by Hex’ magic started to transform back. One after the other lost the lifeless black eyes and came back to their senses, confused as to why they were behind bars. The Skylanders on guard happily released them and the entire facility was filled with relieved hugs and worried chatter.

The villains that were currently in the cafeteria willingly returned to their cells after seeing the dozens of Skylanders surrounding them. Snap Shot and Wolfgang, who have found a private place to spend time together, kissed each other goodbye and returned to their cells as well.

All the other people throughout Skylands that Hex cursed were freed as well. Many awoke with glee and joy to see their families and friends again, others were faced with the gruesome sight of a loved one killed at their hands. No matter how good or bad it ended, everyone was glad that it was finally over.

When Spyro, Sprocket, Smolderdash and Roller Brawl returned, they were greeted with mixed reactions. Some cheered because of their victory over Hex, yet the ones who weren’t cursed remained quiet. The word spread fast and Stealth Elf heard what happened before they arrived. When Spyro stepped off the airship, the elf pulled her mask down and embraced her friend. She whispered words only the two of them could hear which made the leader break down in tears again.

The rest of the day was spent mourning the loss of a beloved Skylander. Someone who was struggling to become the best version of herself her entire life and when she finally did and gained the courage to stand up to her fears, she was taken from them. She believed that there was more than meets the eye, because she knew from experience that there always was. The Skylanders grieved their fallen ally and friend Cynder.

A shrine to honor the dragoness was put up in the center of the Academy. Every Skylander and anyone who could come to the Academy at the time was there. Silence loomed over the heroes like a curse. No one said a word, everyone barely moved. They all took their time to remember Cynder and what change she truly made in the Skylands. After a while, one Skylander after the other left, paying their last respects before returning home to rest. Eventually everyone was gone except for Spyro. He sat right in front of the shrine for the entire day. Hours passed, the dragon didn’t move. He kept gazing at the portrait of his deceased friend and the dark flowers surrounding it.

Cynder has always been more than a friend to him, they had a connection. As much as he despised him, Spyro remembered Malefor’s words about how the three of them were connected. Now he knew that it was true. Spyro was the only dragon left and he felt that something was missing. This driving force that always empowered and motivated him to become better, to treat others better and to give second chances. None of that would have been there without Cynder. She was taken too soon, Spyro was certain of that, but nevertheless the time she had she used to its fullest. When she was once this insecure and sometimes cruel companion who he had countless arguments with and each one seemed to drive her further away, she finally managed to become something extraordinary. She grew beyond herself, jumped over her own shadow and confronted her demons. Cynder was more than a Skylander, she was an inspiration.

On the next day, the first thing Spyro did was to visit Eon’s office. He shared his report about the recent mission and they discussed the fate of Hex and the Skylands after the effects of her curse. A knock on the door interrupted the conversation before Sprocket slowly entered.

“I’m really sorry to disturb, but there’s something I have to show you.” The technician wore a black sweater accompanied by equally dark pants. She never dressed herself in many dark things, even back when her mother forced her to wear certain clothes, but in memoriam of Cynder she was willing to wear the funeral attire for a while. “I know we all have a lot on our minds right now… and we need some time to process everything.” The Tech Skylander felt terribly uncomfortable bringing this up during this time of grief, but she felt like she had to inform the leaders of the Skylanders as soon as possible. “When I confronted the Golden Queen and destroyed the palace she hid in, I found something very peculiar.”

Eon and Spyro stared at the engineer patiently as she pulled out the containment capsule holding the glowing brown orb which she found in the debris of Golden Queen’s palace. “This orb was the only thing that survived the collapse. It was right in the middle of the ruins and some rocks orbited it. I’m not sure if it’s what I think it is, but-”

“The Earth Orb! You found it!” Eon exclaimed with awe and relief before grabbing the relict. “We have been looking for it for years but never managed to find it. We thought we lost it forever!”

Eon already showed Spyro the Light Orb which was in his possession and he told him about all the Elemental Orbs which were scattered across the Skylands. It wasn’t their main priority, but the spirit advised that they should keep an eye out for them. “What does that mean? Is it like a new Eternal Earth Source?” The dragon was riddled.

“Not exactly. The orbs are not as powerful as the sources, but if all of them were to be found and brought together, it could create a new Core of Light!” Eon finally recognized a spark of hope during these dark times.

Sprocket was hearing about this for the first time and she was getting quite overwhelmed by the number of new things she’s learned in the last few days. “That’s great! Then why aren’t we looking for the other ones?”

“It’s not that simple. Those orbs have been lost centuries ago. We now have the Light and Earth Orbs, but the remaining ones could be at the farthest corners of the Skylands. It could take years to retrieve them all.” Eon was always a motivator and tried encouraging the Skylanders to go beyond their limits, but after all those years he found this quest to be hopeless.

“Well, if we were able to find the Eternal Sources, then we can also find the orbs!” Spyro looked at Sprocket who nodded in agreement. “I promise you master, we will find the remaining orbs and create a new core, one which will keep all enemies at bay!”

Eon chuckled. Even during this time Spyro managed to keep his hopes up and follow his heart. “I’m sure you will, but you deserve to take a break first.” The dragon’s smile faded as he was reminded of the current situation. “I know how hard this is for you, please don’t overstrain yourself.”

Sprocket put her hand onto the Magic Skylander’s shoulder as a sign of comfort and partnership. Spyro took a deep breath and let it out again. The sorcerer was right, as usual. “Thank you, Eon.”

The spirit nodded as the two Skylanders left his office and went on with their day. He then looked down to the Earth Orb in his hand and formed a fist to make it vanish. He put it somewhere safe, somewhere not a soul could find it.

As Spyro was about to return to his room, Stealth Elf suddenly appeared in front of him in distress. “Spyro, I hate to tell you this right now but something bad happened!”

Spyro didn’t believe it could get any worse than it already was, but he was proven wrong once more. They rushed to a secured room inside the Academy where many Skylanders gathered around and looked down in horror. After Spyro managed to get through the crowd, he understood what it was all about. “Oh no.”

There was a single broken jar on the ground. It didn’t seem that terrible at first sight, but considering the room they were in and what was inside that jar, no one could hide their concern. “Kaos is free.” Everyone just stood there in shock and without a clue what to do now. Just when they solved one problem, another one was already arising.

The free villain and his henchman Glumshanks were able to escape during the chaos of Hex’ attack. One of the corrupted Skylanders knocked the jar they were in down and while they were still shrunk, the two sneaked out and left the Academy. Over time they grew back to their regular sizes and made it to Kaos’ fortress.

“Ah, home sweet home!” Kaos exclaimed, followed by an echo that sounded through the large entrance hall inside of his residence. “Now that we’re finally free again, we can begin plotting our ultimate plan to take over the Skylands!”

“You mean like the last twenty ultimate plans to take over the Skylands?” Glumshanks has lost hope years ago, and there was no reason to gain any now.

“It will be better this time!” Kaos was determined. “The Doom Raiders are out of the way and that witch has weakened them! This time we will do exactly what she did and take the Skylanders out one after the other!”

Glumshanks watched as the small tyrant went on about his plan when he noticed a mysterious purple glow at the back of the hall. He stared at it with surprise and saw a cloud of smoke appear as well. “Um, master…”

“Don’t interrupt me, Glumshanks! You should have already written everything I just told you down!” Kaos kept facing the troll and was completely unaware the ominous occurrence.

Glumshanks pointed his trembling finger at the light which now spawned a slim figure inside the smoke. “You should really see this.”

With an irritated expression, Kaos turned around only to gasp in shock upon the sight at the end of the hall. As soon as the smoke faded, they saw a large shattered mirror on the ground as a dark heel stepped onto one of the shards. Kaos’ and Glumshank’s heads slowly went up to see Kaos’ mother Kaossandra standing on top of the mirror she’s been trapped in for years, surrounded by purple lights and smoke.

The woman smiled sinisterly as she looked down on her son and his henchman. “Hello darling, did you miss me?”

#skylanders #skylanders after the end #skylanders ate #after the end #ate #chapter 2 #finale #original story #fanfiction #hex #malefor #spyro #cynder #déjà vu #smolderdash #sprocket #snap shot #wolfgang #enigma

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iampikachuhearmeroar · 4 years

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*insert lame & corny end of year summation post here*:

hmm. 2019. funny that the decade is almost over. but this year has been tumultuous, to say the least. or, as an exchange from a movie that is now 20 years old, (what the actual fuck?) states:

“people perceive you as somewhat.....”

“tempestuous?”

“heinous bitch is the term most used most often.”

and that’s to say the most, in the least amount of words. but i’ve never been good at staying short, precise & succinct. colouring inside those ever annoying lines. oh no. no! no! no! i will i 𝙉𝙊𝙏 stick to the status quo of being a well-trained english and philosophy graduate. here’s the ever so long-winded low down, a few days early, if anyone cares to read.

this year I realised a lot of things... but the main big thing I learnt is that I can’t be 1000% “on” all the time with my uni stuff, otherwise i’ll burn out. and that’s what i did. i burnt out. i burnt out fucking hard. at first, i started turning in most of my assignments late. then, i stopped turning in assignments altogether. then i ignored all of my professors. I didn’t explain anything. just stopped doing my work altogether. and disappeared completely off the face of the earth from my course.

“but gwladys/ilona! that’s SOOOO unprofessional and un-adult of you!” everyone says in a tone of reprimand. i know. i know. i know. but you’re talking to the person that never asks for help. that refuses to ask for extensions, bc by fucking god she knows that she’ll get it done by the due date deadline.... even if means that she’ll hyped on coffee, 2 minute noodles and chocolate till 3am every time she does it. high functioning brain-scatter bitch is in full mode all the time.... just until she just can’t do it anymore... and so then crashes and burns spectacularly. we know that im dramatic. that much hasn’t changed 😂. also I’ve learnt that maybe I should 𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙪𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙖𝙨𝙠 for help, every once in a while.

so, anyway. to get back on track. by the end of august then, I was stagnant. morose. uncaring. mentally, it was: 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙢 𝙞 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙣𝙤𝙬???? 𝙩𝙮𝙥𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙩. 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙢 𝙞 𝙙𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜???? 𝙩𝙮𝙥𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙩. 𝙙𝙤 𝙞 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙣𝙙 𝙪𝙥 𝙩𝙤𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙨 80-𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜-𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙤𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙙𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙣𝙤𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚????? 𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙝 𝙞𝙩, 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙡𝙡??? 𝙩𝙮𝙥𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙩 and finally, 𝙬𝙝𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙢𝙮 20𝙨 𝙨𝙤 𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙮????𝙩𝙮𝙥𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙩. all in all I asked my self frequently: “𝚊𝚖 𝚒 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝙱𝚄𝙸𝙻𝚃 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚍???? 𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚖 𝚒 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚍 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐???” and “more than likely nah and also yeah.” was my answer. to say that I was “just tired” would be an understatement. i was fucking exhausted. weary. fatigued. bushwhacked. just utterly fuckin’ buggered. all the while, there’s a nagging voice of baby boomer somewhere that says that: “you imbecilic brat! you can’t burn out while studying! it’s not a real job! get a real job first and THEN you’ll know what burnout REALLY IS.” when, in fact, i’ve been in tertiary study non-fucking-stop (bar uni breaks- although even on my uni breaks I was never really resting properly- because I’d buy some odd textsbooks and my prescribed texts and read some of them on every uni break) since business college in 2014. like y’all. you see how i got to my wits end??? this is my fifth and a half year in tertiary study. im pretty damn well fucking spent.

within all of the above, i also learnt not to try and cram my first 3,000 word essay ever (bc i avoided subjects with 3,000 word essays in undergrad mostly because i felt like i’d never reach that word limit) into about 6 hours before it was due. i failed a few assignments. then started failing subjects. which wasn’t a first for the first thing (failing assignments), but a first for the latter (failing entire subjects). I was sick and tired of word counts and marks dictating my worth, in a sense.

it’s taken until now to get over this feeling of being stuck, being nowhere. just being a mess. maybe it’s just part of your 20s to feel forever stuck. but will i return to my course next month??? much more renewed, and less worn out, and also less likely to procrastinate til the last minute???? the answer is: i still have no idea. this year was a ride. an omni-shambles, if you will. (there’s a new cool large word that I just pulled from google 😂). maybe it’s just part of your 20s to forever feel stuck and lost 🤷🏻‍♀️😓.

anyway, on a much happier note... 2019 was the year that my ass finally got her Ps. I’m hoping that next year I’ll use them more often though 😂 ah well. at least I finally achieved that huge hurdle. I also got back into my old hobbies of going to concerts and doing find-a-word puzzles (which is just this last week actually). the concert got me out of the house for the first time in months, where as the puzzles are helping me reconnect with my love of language (which I felt that I kind of lost through uni assignments in undergrad tbh) and just solving puzzles in general.

the final year of the 2010s has been a tumultuous and heinous bitch. a rough patch of sucky-ness. a dead end feeling. this was all mixed with a huge wave of relief with getting my licence after many years (almost 10 years) of putting it off for most of the time.... then being severely anxious during the learning process after having a shitty instructor in 2014 who told me that “no one in the in this area will ever bother to teach you to drive, because your driving is just that awful! stick with me and I’ll teach you!” which admittedly put me off learning to drive for a fucking whole ass year. then I finally got it 5 years later after 2 more instructors, and one who was dedicated to helping actually get my Ps. I’m glad that work finally paid off (even if it means I failed quite a few times).

“what will 2020 bring you?” inquires the lame buzzfeed/facebook personality test. idefk, buzzfeed or lame fb personality test: that’s either of your jobs to tell me. not mine 😂. but let’s hope it’s better than 2019.

finally, in my typical нυмвℓε ιηтεяηεт мεмε ғαямεя σηℓιηε ρεяsσηα fashion, have a meme to let you laugh into the new year.

#life #about me #shut up ilona #dedication takes a lifetime but dreams only last for a night #i mean it im okay (trust me)#nobody wants to fail the future #im aware that im posting this 4 days early #but honestly who the fuck cares???? 😅😂

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morrak · 5 years

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I normally leave writing anything music to @slothshark, but today’s an exception.

Was just on the way to Saturday coffee with @fallonbean, vaguely listening to NPR as is custom. Between two interviews, the engineer slaps me across the auditory cortex with a bit of music I know perfectly but haven’t heard in months, originally from Billy Butler’s ‘400 Girls Ago’ — that melancholy plucking starting at 1:26 is enigmatic.

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Except it’s not, because the version they used (and the one more people might know) is much faster and has a totally different stock to it. Responsible for that was Count Bass D’s production on MF DOOM’s ‘Potholderz’, off MM...Food in 2007. The sample kicks in in earnest at 0:11, but I was punted directly into Count Bass D’s verse at 2:01.

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It’s been a while since I’ve given time to the record, but I have been working my way back and forth on Vaudeville Villain (and lots of other mixed-production non-hip-hop albums) lately, mostly trying to think about how writing over guests works and works out. I’ll withhold my thoughts here, but DOOM does rap this:

What, these old things? About to throw 'em away

With the gold rings that make 'em don't fit like OJ

Usually I take them off with Oil of Olay

MCs is crabs in a barrel, pass the Old Bay

Hot as hell and it's a cold day, innit?

Working on a way that we can roll away tinted

Some say the price of holding heat is often too high

So, like, I guess some people don’t get totally hobbled by the process. No one would call it his most excellent, but come on.

The interviews the sample separated were not at all obvious fits for the track, but it worked. Well. And I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised, maybe; it’s not exactly an underground album anymore, and you have to expect NPR’s choices to be aggressively literate. Still, getting bushwhacked by the masked emcee on national radio made me smile.

#on music

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raspberryblasphemy · 5 years

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8/28/19

I started off last week with the most painful stomach flu I’ve ever had. The cramping was insane. It started in my chest in what felt like a spell of acid reflux, and traveled down the entirety of my body in an incredibly painful cramp. Repeat every few minutes for a few days. I was doubled over from the pain, I couldn’t do anything. Had to take off work. The acid reflux sensation prior to every cramp was bizarre; for a while I was afraid I had developed a stomach ulcer or maybe even burst my appendix. I was ready to go to the ER if necessary, it was that bad. I was finally able to get someone to pick me up some Imodium from town and that solved the problem, thankfully; just in time for the boyfriend to arrive from across the country. I was only in a bit of pain the first day he had arrived (last Wednesday), but it was still bad enough I was afraid I was going to have to cancel our backpacking/camping trip on the weekend.

I felt 100% better the next day, though, and so the plan was still on for the weekend. It turned out interesting to say the least. It was a poorly planned, badly coordinated adventure that turned out a bit disastrous for some of us. So it was me, my boyfriend, my brother and sister, my sister’s boyfriend, a couple of local friends and their baby, and my best friend from high school visiting from Denver. We invited another local friend we’d gone to high school with but she was unable to make it. The main issue was that some of us had to work on Saturday before heading out, and so we were all essentially starting out the hike at different times. The last time I hiked that trail I was 19 and in much better shape, and it was still a challenge, so I was a bit worried going into it this time. I wasn’t prepared for just how challenging it was going to be, though. Oh, and the drive up to the trailhead was the scariest road I’ve ever driven on. Super narrow, huge drop on one side, people driving out as I was driving in and so I had to back up huge stretches of narrow mountain road to let them out. It was the most challenging thing I’ve had to do in a vehicle so far, so I’m pretty proud of myself for keeping my cool and not succumbing to the anxiety. Go, me!

Once we reached the trailhead It was about a six mile hike one way up to a glacial lake. Most of the hike is through a valley following the river, but the last couple of miles are an incline of about 3000 feet or so. The final destination is about 12,000 feet above sea level with the trailhead being at about 8000 feet above sea level. So it was me, my boyfriend, and my friend from high school and my boyfriend’s dog. My siblings were coming in after us. I should have waited for my brother, but I felt a bit rushed to get there because my two local friends and their baby had started out hours before us and weren’t planning on camping, and my high school friend was going to head back down the mountain with them the same day as he wasn’t planning to camp, either. I assumed we would run into them on their way down. I remembered the trail being a whole lot more straightforward than it was.

So the hike started out well enough. The boyfriend and I were carrying heavy packs with camping gear and food stuffs, but it was manageable enough at first. The trail quickly took a turn for the worse and we ended up bushwhacking most of the way. There were multiple stretches of landslides where trees had been knocked down by freak winds and flooding, and we had to climb through them which was challenging and exhausting with the packs on. Plus the dog was struggling quite a bit. We had to trudge trough a lot of mud and over rocks, and the trail would disappear sometimes and reappear later. At one point we walked right by a sign directing us to the lake, and ended up following the wrong trail to the end of the valley, still a couple thousand feet below our intended destination. We passed a lot of really old mining equipment, it was pretty awesome.

When we got to the end of the valley I still thought we might be going the right way as I recognized everything (albeit from thousands of feet down) and so we pushed on. I knew exactly where the lake was, but the final incline that would have eventually gotten us there proved to be too much for my boyfriend and I with our packs, and we were running out of daylight. We made the decision to turn around and hike back down to the bottom of the valley and camp. Because of our taking the wrong trail, we missed our rendezvous with my two local friends and so my high school friend was forced to camp with us, despite being completely unprepared to do so. He was wearing shorts and sandals, and had nothing warm to wear. It was getting really chilly, too, as the sun went down and we were surrounded by permanent mountain snow fields. I tend to run pretty hot, so I let him wear my hoodie. we mustered up enough energy to get to the bottom of the valley and set up camp. It was horrible. We were forced to walk through huge fields of large rocks that were slippery with condensation. It was insanely challenging and a full body work out. We got to the point where our energy was completely depleted, and set up camp in a less than ideal area. We were running low on water as we had planned on boiling some once we reached our destination (my brother was bringing a camping stove), but fortunately my high school friend had brought two extra bottles and let us have one. the night would have reaaaally sucked otherwise, more than it already did. We were in a hilly, grassy area, so I didn’t feel safe starting a fire had there been dried wood to do so, which there wasn’t.

The night started off okay. Boyfriend and I had a double sleeping bag so I was totally fine, and while he started off pretty cold he eventually warmed up too. We had brought two thermal blankets just in case, so my high school friend was able to use those. I let him use the sweatpants I had brought to sleep in, and fortunately I had brought multiple pairs of socks which we all needed after treading through water. Poor guy still froze, I felt so bad. The wind picked up later in the night and it got colder. It was really bad. There were multiple instances where I felt sure that the tent was going to collapse, but it held strong. I was pretty impressed and I’m glad my boyfriend bought a new tent for the occasion. Had it been an older one (like mine), I feel confident it would have gone down immediately. The ground underneath me was slanted and rocky and insanely uncomfortable, so I tossed and turned a lot and woke up pretty frequently. We all slept poorly. The wind was still going strong when morning came around. We packed up quickly and started our hike out of the valley, which was still pretty challenging. Took us forever to find the trail, had to walk through so much water and my boyfriend and I were insanely thirsty. He had brought purifying tablets but we were dumb and didn’t read the directions beforehand and didn’t realize you had to leave the tablets in the water for four hours before drinking it. So that was pretty useless. We eventually found the trail and had to trek back through the landslide areas over the fallen trees. The dog was a pro at this point, I was pretty impressed with him. We passed the sign where the trail forked and realized our mistake. Not long after, we ran into my two local friends who had come looking for us after being visited by my high school friend’s panicking dad the previous night. His family was freaking out after he hadn’t returned, understandably so. We finally made it back to the trailhead, and I left notes on my siblings cars letting them know I made it out and was heading home. I hoped they had come to the conclusion that we took the wrong trail and that we were fine, and hoped they would return to the trailhead and find the notes and not spend time looking for us. The drive down the mountain wasn’t as bad as going up, and I didn’t have to back up at all this time, thankfully. Made it home safely, and my brother arrived a few hours later. He told us that they had all figured that we took the wrong trail. My sister and her boyfriend came down later that night. Needless to say, i learned a ton and won’t make the same mistakes again.

I have a lot more to write about, but I’m on mobile and a bit burnt out and ready to sleep more. I’ll continue tomorrow with some farm adventures.

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ievenranthisfar · 5 years

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Going Really Big At The Bigfoot 200

I’m only 165 miles in. Still more than 40 to go. Pain shoots up through the bottoms of my feet. Every step feels like the trail is covered in broken glass, but it’s just the early stages of trench foot setting into my waterlogged soles. For the last half hour I’ve been practicing meditative breathing—in throoough the nooose, outttt throooough the nooose—just to take my mind off the shudders of pain rippling through my body.

I might hyperventilate.

I’m so deep in the pain cave, I’m not sure where the entrance was. And it’s very, very dark in here.

Just then, a realization washes over my body—a glimmer of hope. I pick my head up and croak at my pacer, “Hey Marc, I just had a pleasant thought.” “What’s that?” “At least I never have to run Badwater now.”

Who needs some sissy 135-mile race when you can go 206.5 instead, right?

Of Course

My obsession with the Bigfoot 200 started the moment I crossed the finish line at Western States in 2016. States is the granddaddy of 100-milers, after all, and I had just executed a nearly flawless race. It felt like the culmination of something. No 100 will ever come easy, but it felt like I had figured them out. I needed something that scared me again.

And that’s how, one Friday morning in August, I find myself standing at a starting line in the middle of a remote section of the Cascade Mountains in Washington state. My mind is remarkably calm. There’s nothing to be nervous about; who can predict what’s going to come over the next 206.5 miles and 86,000 feet of elevation gain? I just have to let it happen at me. And it’s about to.

What it takes to run 200 miles apparently.

All smiles... at check-in. (Howie Stern)

My amazing (and still fresh-smelling) crew: Peter, Erin, Marc, and one big ole puppy. (Peter Dawson)

Laughing or crying? Hard to tell. (Howie Stern)

A whole bunch of idiots. (Howie Stern)

3!... 2!... 1!... Go!

A mass of 160-something bodies lurch off the starting line. Within 50 feet, I find myself out front already. Someone’s gotta win. Why not me? I say to myself, a mantra I adopted many years ago.

Leading already? (Howie Stern)

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The first miles are generally easy. Soft, dusty trails under a tunnel of pines. Three of us—me, Ryan and Ben—pull out front on our own, chatting intermittently with the standard ultrarunning small talk.

As we break out of the trees and into the volcanic rock, Ryan pulls away. Run your own race, I remind myself. There’s about 200 miles left of it…

We’re on the south side of Mount St Helens, the volcano which famously blew in 1980, instantly ripping apart hundreds of square miles in every direction. Our route will take us through the barren blast zone where little has managed to survive.

Thar she blows.

As we gain elevation, we enter the field of volcanic boulders. Bubbly, black and sharp, the rocks are a jumbled mess, and I hop my way from one to another, following large wooden poles that define the route. It’s fun, and I nearly slip and slice my entire body open only twice. I’m wearing my trusty New Balance Summit Unknowns. They’re too minimal to go the full distance, but they’re perfect for the nimble scampering I need to do here. My poor gaiters are not as lucky, however. The sharp rock makes quick work of the cords that wrap under my shoes, and soon they gaiters are flapping freely around my ankles, letting in all the dirt they want. I chuckle to myself, Of course.

I make it to the first aid station, Blue Lake (mile 12.2), feeling good, aside from a couple of bee stings I’ve already acquired because, Of course. I fill all four of my bottles, dump ice into my ice bandana and shovel some watermelon and grapes down my gullet. The next section is going to be a long one. More than 18 miles in the open sun.

I’ve caught Ryan, but he takes off so I hurry to follow him. Run your own race, I try to remind myself.

The trail winds us in and out of pockets of forest, mixed with sections of skeleton trees. They stand bare and bleached in the sun—a whole forest of death. Seems like a good sign.

When the trail opens up again, I can see that we’re going to descend down to a big river. I pick up some speed, slaloming down the rutted trail and enjoying the ride.

Suddenly, WHAP!

It all happens so fast I don’t even understand. All I know is that I’m flat on the ground saying the word, “Oof.” I pick up my poles, and one of them dangles in the air like a snapped crab leg. Of course I snapped a pole 15 miles into a 200-mile race. Of course.

Embarrassed but unhurt, I take off again. The broken pole whips around with every bounce. It’s annoying. Finally, I devise a system where I tuck it under one arm while I use the good pole in the other hand. For a brief moment, I feel like Killian at last year’s Hardrock. Except he dislocated his entire shoulder, and you just snapped a pole, I hear myself say. Right.

The course moves clockwise up and around the volcano, and soon I break into blast zone. Vast, desolate, gray and dusty, there’s little life here and even less water. But despite the direct assault by the sun, I’m moving well and feeling good.

Of course I broke a pole 15 miles in. (Scott Rokis)

Things are strange out here. I discover an insect I name the Sprinkler Bug because, well, I that’s what I thought it literally was at first. It chirps just like those lawn sprinklers that spin slowly and then come back fast. Tct, tct, tct, tct, tct, tctctctctctct! At another point, we climb switchbacks up a massive ridge of soft gray dust. I’ve never been to the Moon, but now I don’t need to.

I’m rationing water now. I still have miles to go before the aid station, but my 80 oz is running low. The race directions said something about a water source at mile 16 of the section; I’m just praying I’m close.

A half mile later, I hear something glorious: water. Coming around a curve, I spy a grove of plant life bursting from the rocks. I break through it to see a tumbling waterfall. “Oh-ho yeah!” I exclaim involuntarily and out loud. I pull out my Katadyn filter bottle and greedily begin guzzling water. It’s so clear and cold I nearly get brain freeze. It’s a proper oasis in the middle of a desert.

After dunking my hat and bandana in the glacier-fed water, I bound off with new life. Eventually, the trail hits a dusty fire road, and I begin to climb up on my approach to the Windy Ridge aid station (mile 30.3).

Pole still broken. Because of couse. (Howie Stern)

“Can anyone do some surgery on a trekking pole for me?” I ask as I blow in waving my janky broken pole around in the air. No one seems to want to really be responsible for this fool’s errand, but eventually someone finds some duct tape and gets to work. I know there’s no way they’re going to be able to make it functional; it’s fully snapped in one place and smashed in another. But seeing as I have no crew for another 10 miles, I just don’t want it whipping around anymore.

The duct tape job is so bad that it’s funny. The poor volunteer has created a splint from a spare—but not straight—stick which is then wrapped in black duct tape a few dozen time. The effect is that my pole has grown a malignant tumor. But it’ll do the job. I shove a few potato chips in my mouth, thank the volunteers for their help and bound off.

The Chase

There’s a short out-and-back to get to the Wind Ridge, and by the time I complete it, I come to a confusing sign directing 200-milers to turn right. But there’s no right turn, just desert. Hmm. I run a little more until I come upon Ryan. He’s standing in the trail waiting for me. “I guess we go this way?” he points to the trail we’re on. It’s not a full right turn like the sign suggested, more of a very gentle branch. But we decide it must be right and take off together.

Ryan and I share the next set of miles together, picking up our standard ultrarunner chatter again. We cross washes, bushwhack through dense underbrush and just start to bake in the sun a little. Turns out he’s doing the Triple Crown (Bigfoot 200, Tahoe 200 four weeks later and Moab 240 three weeks after that). Now I’m really impressed but also a hair confused why he’s running out front like that. No mind, we push on.

The trail eventually begins to climb up as we point towards the observation point and our next aid station at Johnston Ridge, mile 39.9. I start to get a little wild hair and think, Eh, let’s push it. I ramp up my speed and start to leave Ryan. I find that being able to come into aid stations ahead of other people is a huge mental boost, for me and for my crew (which in turn is another boost for me).

The view of Mount St Helens and the blast zone, from Johnston Ridge. (Peter Dawson)

I get into the aid, grab a hunk of watermelon and find my godsend of a crew, Marc, Peter, and Erin, for the first time in 40 miles. “Wow! You look amazing!” they tell me. “I’m having fun.” “You’re blazing out there!”

“I’ve got an assignment for you guys. You think you can do some surgery on this thing?” I hold up my sad, dangling Z-Pole. Everyone stares at it. Yikes. Finally, Marc offers a solution, “Hey, I’ve got a pair of adjustable Lekis. Why don’t you just take them?” He shoves them into my hands. They’re new, pristine, never been used. I feel bad sullying them. But I think it’s about my only option if I want to finish this thing. God bless you, Marc.

I munch some pretzels and we change out my Summit Unknowns for my cushier Hierro v2s. They’re the biggest shoes I’ve ever run in, but I’m crossing my fingers that they’re going to save my legs because #166milestogo.

By the time I’ve switched shoes, figured out the new poles and fixed my fussy SPOT Tracker we’re all required to carry, Ryan has taken off ahead of me. I wave to my crew and the volunteers and go to chase him down.

It’s now late afternoon. The sun is high and the trail exposed. I’m pushing the pace to catch back up with Ryan, and I think to myself, I don’t remember it being this hot a few minutes ago. Maybe I’m pushing too hard.

I’m starting to question myself when I see Ryan a few switchbacks below me. I lock in and start careening downhill. It’s a little surprising how quickly I catch him. He sort of grunts a nice “Hey” at me, and I realize he’s hurting. And with that, I’m gone.

Over the next few miles, bodies of several 100Kers litter the trail. It’s hot, and the distances between aid stations are too long for inexperienced runners. Poor 100Kers.

I saunter into Coldwater Lake aid (mile 46.5) feeling good. Really good. I’ve been looking at my splits, and I’m almost an hour up on course record pace. Did not see that coming.

Getting prepped for the first night already. (Peter Dawson)

“Hi, Peter!” (Peter Dawson)

“Bye, Peter!” (Peter Dawson)

Headlight in pack, I roll out. This section to Norway Pass promises to be one of the hardest—20 miles, more than 5,000 feet of gain, all as the sun sets. But for now, I’m just enjoying myself. The trail follows the length of Coldwater Lake, and the trees give me reprieve from the heat that’s undoubtedly out there in the sun. Life is good.

After what feels like a few miles, I cross a bridge and start heading up switchbacks. Ah, the climbing begins. All along the trail bushes of various wild berries burst open. Huckleberries, blackberries, raspberries, thimbleberries. I pluck their gifts as I go hiking by. Natural trail magic.

Eventually, I top out and find myself high above the landscape below. The sun hangs low in the sky, and the trail snakes its way under ridges and peaks. Up and over a crest and suddenly the whole of Mount St Helens is laid out in the distance. The volcano has her own ring of clouds clinging to her. And in the golden hour, everything glows amber. I’m totally gobsmacked. I turn another corner and suddenly Mt Adams comes into view in the far distance too. My insides ignite with pure joy. It’s hands-down the most spectacular sunset I’ve ever witnessed. And I have it all to myself.

I’m totally alone for miles and miles. Up here. I’m on top of the world. I slow down and breathe it in.

Continuing on, alpine lakes unfold below me, hidden from the rest of the world behind a fortress of peaks. A third of their surfaces are covered in white. For a moment, I don’t understand what I’m looking at. Then I realize it. They’re massive tree trunks, bleached in the sun. The lakes are covered in them. They must be from the blast, killed off decades ago and left to float on the lakes. I know I’m the only person who will see these tonight, and I feel immensely lucky.

Just then I hear a screech. It’s high and sharp and echoes off the mountains. There’s only one thing it can be. Mountain lion. Oh heeeey.

The sun sets at 8:25, but I’ve always liked to run in twilight so I keep going without my headlamp, seeing how far I can get before absolutely needing it. Turns out I can make it all the way to 9:00. OK, I’ve tempted fate long enough, I say to himself as images of me eating shit in the blackness play in my brain.

Headlamp on, I top out again and seem to be heading downhill. There’s a quick out-and-back to tag the Mt Margaret peak. I’m sure it’s lovely in the daylight. In the dark, it’s mostly just very dark.

I careen downhill, eager to make it to the next aid. Finally, a faint light appears in the valley below. I remember a race report saying that the aid would be visible but still very far away. But after what feels like a few miles, it’s still very far away. Maybe that’s not it? It’s the only light I see out there in the inky night. But is that really it? After what seems like an eternity of “Guess-If-That-Light-Is-The-Aid-Station” I come upon a sign that reads “Norway Pass 1 mile”. Guess it is. And it’s still kinda far away.

Another down in and I come into Norway Pass aid station, mile 65.2. After being alone in the dark for so long, the sudden buzz of activity and light is a little shocking. Someone brings a blanket—it’s getting chilly now—and I request a cheeseburger and Coke.

There’s a boy of about six years old who’s very excited to see me. “I said he was going to be here soon, and then he showed up!” he keeps repeating proudly. “I said he was going to be here soon, and now he’s here! Do you want chili? Coffee?” He flitters around me like an overly excited mosquito.

For a moment, I think of my own one-year-old boy at home, and I’m taken out of the race. Watching this kid bounce around, I think to myself, One day my baby will grow up to be a super-annoying little boy, just like this one.

Into The Heart of Darkness

Burger in belly, I shove off again. The trail out of Norway is in bad disrepair. Bushes obstruct the trail and dead trees lay littered everywhere. At one point, the trail seems to dead-end into pure forest. I stop, feeling it’s wrong, but go ahead and push my way through a mess of pines. After 20 feet of thick bushwhacking, I turn around. I try a different entry point and push through. Another 15 feet and nothing. I turn around again. I try a third time, but nothing. This seems bad. Finally, I turn around and look behind me. There’s a hairpin turn in the trail at about a 350-degree angle. A ribbon sits squarely but invisibly in the middle. Ahh. In my frustrated state, I can’t remember which way I’ve come. Or more importantly, where I’m going. Everything starts to look the same. I pick the right side and start going. But it feels weird to be going uphill. I stop and turn around to try the other direction. I make it a little way down this direction before I see something familiar feeling. Now I’m very confused. Stop. Breathe. Think. I pull out my iPhone and switch it on. We were required to load the race into our Gaia GPS app before the race. Thank God. I look at it. Yep, I’m definitely going the wrong way. Score one for Gaia.

Heading back in the right direction, I start to feel better. The trail improves, and I enjoy some night miles once more.

The trail seems to be crawling with all kinds of thing. I see toads hop away from my feet. Salamanders wriggle under leaves. And bugs of all kind squirm everywhere. I’m not having hallucinations, but my mind starts to play a game where it makes faces out of every leaf or rock I step over. At one point, I look down a see a rock that’s clearly Zombie Barack Obama.

I’m enjoying my time so much that I forget the last time I saw a marking. They’ve been spaced rather far apart, but, Maybe I just haven’t been paying attention? I keep going, suddenly on high alert. Nothing. The trail begins to climb. A lot. For some reason, that doesn’t feel right. My hands are on knees as I’m pushing uphill. Where is the damn marking? I’m starting to panic a little again. But, foolishly, I keep going. The markings HAVE been really far apart, I convince myself, not wanting to admit what I’m fearing.

Stop. Breathe. Think. Common sense finally appears. I stop and pull out Gaia again. I’m off-course. By a lot. Somehow I’m on a parallel trail to the correct trail. (Unless GPS is placing me slightly off, and I’m really on the right trail?) I wonder if I can connect to the right trail if I continue, but that doesn’t seem likely. What if I bushwhack? Dense brush, going fully off-trail, not a good idea, my common sense rebuts. The only option is to turn around. So I do.

It takes me a long time to get back. At least 15 or 20 minutes. I’ve probably added a minimum of two miles to my race by the time I get back to what Gaia tells me is the proper trail. There, I find a three-way intersection. I see flagging uphill, where I came from originally. And then I see a flag pointing down the trail I’ve just backtracked on. Meaning, according to that flag, I was on course. But my Gaia is telling me otherwise. I look off to the only trail I haven’t gone. No flagging, but Gaia says it’s right. I cautiously proceed, wondering what the hell is going on. Confusion mixes with anger with just a dash of annoyance.

A ways down the trail, I finally see it: a flag. Finally. A little farther, another flag. Farther still, another flag. OK, I must be on the right trail. It starts to dawn on me that the flag pointing downhill at the intersection was placed incorrectly—maybe by a bad course-marker? But by then, I’ve already gone too far to turn back and fix it. I’ve already added enough extra miles tonight.

The side effect of the episode is that now I’m super paranoid. Suddenly I can’t trust any marking. Any time I go more than a couple of minutes without seeing a ribbon, I start to freak. The forest suddenly feels a little more sinister.

That’s right when a bird hit me.

It flies right smack-dab into my chest. OK, weird.

A few minutes later, I hear something directly off to the right side of the trail. It sounds big. Like, pretty darn big. But thinking it’s just a deer, I don’t worry, and it seems to disappear. Fifteen seconds later, I hear it again, it’s directly off to the right. Still. It’s paralleling me. I hear it crashing through the underbrush, still precisely off to my right. IS THAT BIGFOOT??? Objectively I know it’s not, but also, I mean, the race is named for him. Now I’m proper freaked. I begin shouting and singing nonsense, hoping Bigfoot hates my voice. He must because I don’t hear him after that.

It begins to rain now. Just a little. But enough to make the trail slick.

I enter a small, narrow canyon with the trail built onto a shelf. Or at least that’s the best I can tell from the beam of the headlamp through the rain.

Suddenly, through the darkness I hear, CRACK!

Holy shit, there’s lightning now??

The thunder sounds as if it struck just a few hundred feet to my right. Then I think, Wait a second. There was thunder but no lightning. That’s weird. Then it dawns on it. That wasn’t lightning; that was a tree falling. OH GREAT. I look up suspiciously. THE ENTIRE FOREST IS READY TO FALL DOWN AND KILL ME. If I was paranoid before, I’m out of my mind now.

Finally, mercifully, I make it to Elk Pass aid at mile 76.3, alive. I immediately start blubbering about the trail marking fiasco. “It’s somewhere near Badger Peak,” I tell the aid station captain. “Oh, I know exactly where that is. Same thing happened last year. Someone vandalized the course.” “Oh man.” “Yeah, these stupid local kids on dirt bikes go out there and switch up the markings. Think it’s funny.” It’s a bit of relief to know that it wasn’t my fault. But also, what the hell?

I sit down to regroup and eat some more real food for the first time in hours. As I do, someone asks if I saw any wildlife out there. “Uh, well, I heard a mountain lion, got hit by a bird and am pretty sure I was being hunted by Bigfoot.” It feels good to have a laugh and know that all that’s in the past.

The good news is that I’m still well up on my splits. The course record feels within reach. I’m going for it. I wave everyone farewell and head out.

But the stress of the night has taken its toll. I feel worked. A cold is slowly materializing in my chest and nostrils, adding to my general feeling of shittiness. Not only that, I’ve been relying on gels between aid station stops for most of this first day, and they don’t seem to be giving me everything I need.

The trail rolls, then climbs. I start to feel a little foggy. It’s now very, very early morning, that magical time when things get weird in a race. Fifteen miles to the next aid and my first pacer. I just have to make it.

Things get colder too. This is not fun anymore. A deeply awful feeling suddenly washes over me. This is impossible. It’s too much.

A terrible idea takes root: I’ve just run 70 miles. I HAVE TO DO THAT TWO MORE TIMES. All that I just did. Again. Twice.

The flame that’s been burning inside me suddenly extinguishes. Poof.

It’s not that I don’t want to finish; I just don’t know how. It’s just not possible.

It’s a black pit. I’m standing at the bottom of the Dawn Wall, staring up, no rope, no clue what to do. That task in front of me does not compute.

This is impossible. It’s just not possible.

It’s the first time I’ve felt like dropping in years and years. But it comes on so suddenly that I feel like I’ve been punching in the gut.

I begin formulating my exit plan. When is it OK to drop? Where can I drop? What will that feel like? How is my crew going to feel? The last question hits me. I realize how shitty it will be if I asked them to take off almost a week of their lives to come out in the middle of nowhere, just to have me drop. I start to feel really bad.

You feel bad for them? What about you?? a voice asserts. Just think of the time and training and preparation and—screw it—MONEY that YOU put into all of this? It’s true. It’d be pretty shitty to just give up this easily.

Plus… the voice winds up for its final knockout punch. There’s a pause.

Yes?... I ask.

You know you’ll just have to come back and run this again if you drop.

Shit. I know it’s right. And I am not about to come back and run this dumb race again. No way.

And with that, I resign myself to finishing. I’m back in.

I top out of the climb and beginning rolling downhill. In the fog—both metaphoric and literal—my legs work at an embarrassingly suboptimal pace. Picking my way down the rutted-out trail, I finally reach the bottom and spill onto a dirt road. I’ve made it to the mile 91.3 aid station, Road 9327

Marc, Erin, and Peter are there. “I need to sleep,” I announce. They hurry me into the back of the rented Suburban. Mercifully, I rip off my dusty shoe and slide into the trunk. “Get me in 15 minutes,” I mutter as they shut the Chevy-branded sarcophagus on me.

I close my eyes, and all I can feel is cold and the ribbed, plastic bed of the truck on my back. I shift left and right. Nothing makes me feel as sleepy as I know I should feel.

I remember advice from my friend Bryce who said he wasted an hour trying to fall asleep last year. I’m determined to not let that happen. After ten minutes of bullshit, I sit up. My caffeinated gels must be working a little too well. I knock on the window and beg to be let out. Oh well.

By the time I’m out, my breakfast is ready. Eggs, bacon, coffee. It’s glorious. I scarf it greedily. It’s amazing. Then it dawns on me: I need to switch to real food. These formulated gels and chews can only do so much for me. If I’m out here for two and a half days, I need good stuff on my stomach. I ask them to whip me up a quesadilla to go.

Day Two Dawns

Reluctantly, I strap my shoes back on. Time to go. At least I have Marc with me now. We say goodbye and amble down the mountain farther. The morning light filters through fog, and things feel a little better. We chat and catch up. It’s nice to share miles with someone again.

Meanwhile, back in the crew car... #vanlife (Erin Gardner Dawnson)

Marc has downloaded the course onto to his InReach. After a bit, he announces, “OK, I think we have this climb and then we head down to the aid.” We climb for a while longer. At one point, in the total middle of nowhere, we come across some senior campers out for a morning stroll. “You guys out for a running? Doing the one-mile loop?” We just stare at them, unsure how to answer. “No, we’re not,” is the only appropriate answer that comes out.

Marc checks his GPS again. “I think it’s just this climb again.” This climb seems to have been going on forever. And then it keeps going even more. And more. It’s getting steeper too. I have zero recollection of reading about a monster climb here in any course description. “Dude. What the fuck.” This thing does not end. I look up and only see more climbing. We keep telling ourselves that it must top out at the next bend. But every time we hit a turn, we look straight up another half-mile of trail. The cursing becomes more frequent and emphatic. Marc keeps promising that we must almost be there, but every time, I wind up heartbroken. Things start to feel impossible again. At some point, I cross the 100-mile mark without fanfare; I don’t even notice until much later. One hundred miles in 25ish hours. Fast for a 200. But a sub-24 had a nice ring to it.

After what seems like five times too long, we reach the top of Spencer Butte. (Or Spence Butt, as I’ve obviously named it.) Rather unceremoniously, we drop off the top and down towards the aid. It’s a long descent, but not nearly as long as the climb. Ragged, we pop out onto a paved road and the aid. Mile 102.5.

I sit, regroup myself a bit, eat some more food and then off we go. Marc and I patter down the paved road. In the sunlight, I don’t feel terrible, but I don’t feel good either. After two miles, we see the turn-off, a small foot trail that seems to drop precipitously off the side of the mountain.

“Is this even a trail?” Marc wonders aloud. We switchback down a very steep descent, covered with leaves. It’s a screamer. “I think the last time anyone used this trail was last year’s race,” Marc says. “Agreed.” But it feels good to be running again.

Eventually, we bottom out and snake our way towards the Lewis River. And civilization. We cross a road. We start to see cars, hear people, catch tents. After spending the last day in the backcountry, the sudden assault of other human beings is a shock to my system. People who have no idea what I’ve been through or what I still have left to do. Just people merrymaking and lazily cooking eggs over campfire and walking down to the river to get a glimpse. Their presence energizes me a little. After all, people equal an aid station nearby, right?

Marc and I hit a well-trodden path that parallels the river, running upstream. The water looks crisp. I fumble to get some orange-flavored Honey Stinger chews into me.

We must be getting close, I think to myself. Then I say it out loud. “We must be getting close, right?” Marc checks his InReach. “We have a little ways to go.” “OK.” We wind inland some, away from the water. Surely we’re headed into the aid. I ask Marc again, but he only deflects and tells me we have a few more miles to go. My optimism starts to sour. Somehow I’ve conflated the mileage of different aid stations in my head. I’m confused. The trail continues to roll. We head along some cliffs, hear a waterfall, pass more day-hikers. I grunt to acknowledge them. In my head I imagine myself to be a small slobbering hedgehog of a creature. It’s probably funnier in my head than it actually is.

Finally, after what feels more eternal than the previous eternity, we see a sign telling us that the Lewis River aid station (mile 112.1) is a few hundred feet away. There’s a series of signs, a Caribbean theme I think. I recognize a Jimmy Buffett quote, I think.

I throw myself into the folding chair. I made it. Well, I made it to halfway-to-making-it. At least I’m still in the lead, I assume, by a considerable bit. Nevertheless, I want to get out there quickly. Or, rather, I want to want to get out there quickly. It feels good to sit. It’s morning, and I’m eating chili. I change shirts. We wash my feet. I have a long debate with Peter and Erin about whether to change out my shoes to the next half-size up for swelling but ultimately decided against it. Then, I brush my teeth. Oh God. It feels so good. I’d been looking forward to that for about 100 miles now.

I’m patched together as best I can. I feel like spare parts, but at least I’m still well in the lead. With a wave, I amble out of the aid station, back down the hill and past the possible-Jimmy-Buffett quote signs, with Peter now in tow. Just as we near the turnoff to get back on route, a thick bear of a dude comes flying up the trail towards me. He flashes a smile and says hi. I’m dumbfounded.

We turn onto the trail, and then I turn to Peter. “That can’t be another runner… right?” “I don’t think so, man…” “I mean… I don’t think that was one, right?” I get a little more uneasy.

We drop down by Quartz Creek and begin following a trail that’s only slightly better than a game trail. At times, the trail turns and shoots straight up the hillside, leaving us clawing our way up, hands on knees. Then it inexplicably turns down and drops again. Then up and down and up and down, without purpose. It's beginning to feel a little maddening. Then again, I realize, it’s sort of a metaphor for this whole thing, isn’t it?

Rain begins to fall in spits. It cuts the air pleasantly, and I allow myself to enjoy it. But after a few minutes, I realize I’m starting to get soaked. No bueno. I stop to slip on my rain shell.

A few minutes later, we hear a sound over our shoulder. Within a minute, that same bear of a guy we saw coming up to Lewis River aid, goes shooting past us. “Nice job, guys!” he hollers as he sails off. Gut punch. He really was a runner after all—Wes Ritner, I learn later. Well, there goes that. I’m sad but mostly just jealous of how well he’s moving. Within two minutes he’s out of sight.

The rain subsides, and we keep up-and-downing our way along the creek. Finally, we get to a crossing point, likely the last water for another 15 miles. Peter and I stop on a jumble of rocks to filter water into our bottles. I look around at the forest, the creek, the two of us sitting there, and it feels just really pleasant. If I wasn’t 118 miles deep into a race, we could just be two friends out a little adventure hike. I savor the moment. The weight of leading the race has slid off my shoulders finally. Now I just want to finish.

We drink our fill, top off bottles and then press on. Several minutes later, as we’re picking our way through thick, razor-like thorn bushes, we hear a crashing sound behind us. It’s Ryan from before. And he’s flying too. He says a quick hello, asks if I’m OK—Geez, do I look that bad? —and then shoots off uphill.

The next few hours feel like more wandering. We claw our way uphill on the “trail” only to drop back down again moments later. It feels pointless, and I become angry with whoever designed this stupid, stupid trail.

Soft rain falls off and on, and I foolishly feel grateful for the change of pace. But it starts to chill as we make our way up to some road that’s supposed to materialize yet never does.

Pretty par for the race course. (Peter Dawson)

I’m starting to feel truly, deeply exhausted. I want proper sleep. “I’m going to lay down to sleep once the sun goes down,” I announce to Peter. I check my watch. It’s 6:28. Sundown is at 8:00. I can’t wait till 8:00.

We finally reach the dirt road high up on a ridge. It’s a mess. A combo of rains and ATVs have torn it up, in that annoying way that ATV tear things up. But I’m happy to be making progress at least. The late summer sun shines through the wet trees, bathing us in golden light. I’m starting to stumble a bit.

I keep checking my watch. 7:41. 7:46. 7:52. 7:55. 7:57. Finally, it’s 8:00. I can officially sleep, based on my totally arbitrary designation. I begin hunting for a spot to lay down, but the rain has soaked most of the ground. After another few minutes, I spot a small dry patch behind an island of trees in the middle of the trail. Sleep time! I take my pack off, make a little pillow with it and lay down. The dirt is lumpy but soft. I can’t wait to sleep.

ZzzZzzzzzZZ! Smack!

ZzzzzZZZzZZzZ! Smack!

ZZZzzZzZZZ! Smack smack smack!

Shit. Mosquitoes. Really??

I’m absolutely swarmed in mosquitoes. They assault every square inch of exposed, short-shorts flesh. I swat them in vain, convinced I’ll still sleep. My legs and arms are pricked and pierced mercilessly. Shit.

I dig into my pack and produce a long-sleeve shirt which I lay across my legs like some sad pair of pants. It obviously does not do the trick at all. I toss angrily. I give one more valiant effort to ignore the pest, but nothing is going to stop this assault. “It’s not going to work,” I tell Peter, sitting up. “Let’s keep going,” I say, defeated.

We arrive at the Council Bluff aid station (mile 131) in the dark. It’s starting to get cold, and I’m starting to feel properly wrecked. The cheery aid stations folks can tell. They plop me under a blanket near the fire and someone offers me chili. “Sure, thanks.” They bring over a paper bowl lined with a flour tortilla and then covered in a very corn-forward chili. The tortilla-under-chili thing confuses my brain, but I eat it greedily as best I can.

“Alright, I want to go soon,” I tell Peter. If I can’t sleep I might as well keep moving. Chain of Lakes is less than 10 miles away, with all my stuff and another chance at sleep.

“Hey, you need to eat some more,” a volunteer comes barreling over to me.

“I’m good, really. I just want to keep moving.”

“No man, you need to eat more food.”

“I have been eating.”

“Listen, dude, I’ve run a lot of races. I’ve DNF’d before. You need to eat more.”

Weird flex.

“I don’t. want. food. I want to go.”

“I’ll get you some M&M’s.”

“Dude. I’m good.”

He continues to brag to me about running a 36-hour 100-miler or something. I guess if he’s trying to prove his prowess at being bad at ultras, I'm convinced. Either way, he won’t let me leave, and I’m starting to get really annoyed. The other volunteers can sense the weird scene unfolding. One of the volunteers offers, “How about some Oreos?”

I can sense that this woman is just trying to help me get out of here. “Sure,” I acquiesce.

I leave annoyed, with a paper towel sleeve of three Oreos, muttering to Peter.

The next hours drift hazily at best. We roll along, just trying to bide our time until Chain of Lakes. My head cold from before has fully bloomed into something serious. I shoot snot rockets from my nose every few minutes, and it’s getting harder to breathe. Cool.

As we climb up to a paved road, there’s a promise of civilization. Road signs tell us of Takhlakh Lake and its campground nearby. I assume that it’s part of the Chain of Lakes so we must be close. Really close.

Along the sides of the road, we see white frost delicately forming. It’s frigid and exposed on the road. We slip on gloves and await the aid station’s arrival. But instead of turning down the obvious road to what had to be the aid, the flags point us past and then turn off the road entirely and into the woods. It must just be a quick jog through the woods to get to the aid on singletrack, I think. But the aid never comes. Peter looks at his watch and tells me it must just be another half mile. But that passes. And passes again. And we’re still not there. I can feel despair setting in again. I foolishly say I’ll wait to eat food till I get to the aid station because we must be so close. When too much time passes, I fully stop in the middle of the trail to eat. My bar is rock hard in the cold.

Just then, we see lights. Within minutes, Jordan Chang and his pacer on upon us. We exchange a few pleasantries, and then they scamper off. He looks awesome. I feel like shit.

Ten minutes later, the trail spits us out onto a small road. We’re there, finally. I’m energized by making it this far. One-hundred and forty miles. The aid station is dead. After all, it’s 2:00 in the morning and below freezing. Erin and Marc are excited to see us, and I happily take some soup and quesadillas from the hearty volunteers who have shaken themselves awake on my account. But my focus is sleep. Marc informs me that his puppy has somehow popped the sleeping pad. “I don’t think it’s going to matter, man,” I say, fully exhausted.

I clamber into the back of our Suburban, remove my shoes and socks, slide into the sleeping bag and tell them to get me in 20 minutes. I’m very excited for sleep.

But almost immediately, I learn that I was wrong about the sleeping pad. The trunk of the truck is cold and hard with long, plastic grooves. It’s surprisingly uncomfortable, and the knobs of my bones feel like they’re poking out everywhere. It’s also freezing. I toss and turn, trying to find some position that doesn’t suck. Mostly I’m amazed that I don’t fall asleep. I never have a problem sleeping in real life. I start actively thinking about sleeping. I have to sleep. Yeah, no shit. OK, sleep now. Nothing. OK… sleep now. Nothing. OK, sleep… NOW. This is not looking good.

Just then there’s a bang on the back window. “Hey man.” It’s Marc. “It’s been 20 minutes.”

“Wha?”

“Twenty minutes.”

“Uhh, I don’t think I slept?” It comes out as a question. “Gimme another 20 minutes, OK?”

“OK.”

I return to my latest impossible task. I try to force myself to sleep for another ten or fifteen minutes, but to no avail. Finally, I give up and drag myself over the back seat of the car and spill out the door, shoeless. The gravel in the parking lot is cold and sharp on my battered, naked feet.

My crew seems a little concerned to see me. But I’ve already moved on. I’m just not going to sleep at all I guess. With a little too much effort, I slide on a pair of light tights and a jacket. I guess we’re still doing this…

When Hell Freezes Over

Marc and I give a wave and thank the volunteers before shoving off into the dark. We quickly hit some winding, descending singletrack. It feels nice to be moving well again. Soon thereafter, we hit the first of our three river crossings. It’s 3:00 am.

Bundled up for the night. Or so I thought.

The water isn’t high, but it feels glacial. I yelp as I slip my legs in. The cold wraps up to my mid-thigh. A minute later, we emerge on the far other side, water-logged.

The next two crossing come fairly quickly and are equally unpleasant. But at least we’re done with them, I think.

The trail soon becomes a little less distinct, and it feels like we’re meanderingly aimlessly through dense forest. Thick, lush underbrush, heavy with the evening’s rain spills over the trail, and we’re doing whatever one level below bushwhacking is. We continue like this for some time, and I start to realize that I’m getting wet. The water-bedazzled foliage shows no signs of letting up, so we stop to slip on rain jackets.

I’m getting cold. Like, really cold. My teeth start chattering. Then they start chattering really loudly. My body starts shaking. Why is my body shaking? The underbrush doesn’t let up. Neither does the shaking. I start to feel like shit. Like, really not good. This is not good.

Marc pushes on in front of me. As I fall behind, I realize something is very wrong. I weakly squeak out to him, “Hey man, I’m exactly sure what hypothermia is… but I’m pretty sure I have it.”

In the moment, I couldn’t access the file in my brain labeled “hypothermia.” I couldn’t recall what it was. But it seemed like this must be it.

Marc spins around and sees me. Hypothermia confirmed. “Put on everything you have,” he instructs me. I don’t have much more in my pack, but I zip up my rain jacket completely, to that awkwardly high point that rain shells zip to. Only the round of my face peeks out. “Can you eat anything?” I pop a Gu. It’s cold and thick and caramelly and a terrible flavor.

I can barely speak through my chattering teeth. My body spasms violently. We just have to move. Help is not coming. The Klickitat aid station is mile 158.1, almost 20 miles away from Chain of Lakes. I just have to hold on till morning.

We start moving again. My body is revolting against itself. I feel frozen down to my bones. I realize my breath is escaping unused into the air, so I pull my jacket up over my mouth and breath down into it, blowing warmish arm down the front of me. I’m not sure if this is actually doing anything, I think to myself. But at this point, just the fact I’m able to come up with any sort of attempt at a solution feels like a win.

Time passes. The clattering and shaking continue. I eat an extra gel. How does this all end?

Finally, we start to see the first glimmer of morning light in the sky. We hear a bird. Then, another. Morning is coming. We couldn’t have hit the river crossings and wet underbrush at a colder time—the dead of late night—but the day was slowly clawing its way back.

Eventually, my shivering slows and finally stops. I’m still cold, but I feel like I have my body back, at least a bit. I’m still alive. What a weird, horrible dream.

In the morning light, we climb up to an empty paved road. I get that disorienting feeling of seeing something manmade again. Across the road, the trail drops into a forest. We drop down too. I find myself moving decently again. The forest feels huge. Giant redwoods tower overhead. It’s dank and dark. The air hangs heavy with the glorious smell of wet, rotting wood. Green and brown. Everything else that has happened melts away. I feel like I’m in the presence of magic. My mind tries to wrap itself around where we are, but it can’t. The only thing I think of is that we’re truly in the middle of nowhere. I suddenly become very grateful. I’m far out, way far out here.

We wind through the forest for a while before spitting out on a series of dirt logging roads. Their presence feels jarring and blasphemous.

We cross another paved road and begin to climb a hill. A very steep hill. We quickly realize that we’re starting our climb up to Elk Peak. The last test before we reach aid. The thought energizes me a little. I pop in my trusty iPod Nano loaded with music from 2012 and start power hiking.

The high dissipates after a mile, and it’s just really fucking hard again. Then I feel it, a twinge in my left heel. My Achilles. Literally. It’s my nemesis. An injury that’s haunted me for years. I instantly worry. Any weird step and it could be the end of my race. The only upside is that I can’t believe I’ve already gone 155 miles with zero problems. Look at you thinking positive!

I slow down, hoping to be kinder to my stupid leg. The climb drags on. Every time I’m sure that we’re topping out, the mountain keeps going. It’s not just false summits. It’s tiny false peaks that raise before us. First, it’s annoying. Then it’s infuriating. Then, eventually, it’s just hilarious. Our frustration gives ways to pure, hysterical acceptance of our situation. A running joke, about running.

Just as it seems that we can’t possibly hit another false peak, we see another, rocky peak rises in front of us. But this one is different. It’s an out-and-back. Our out-and-back. We scramble up the sheer, angled rock and finally arrive at our goal.

The view is breathtaking, in the truest sense of the word. We’re surrounded by it. In 360 degrees, the Cascades stretch out around us. Dense, green forests. Rocky, gray peak. Wispy, white clouds clinging to them all. I remember the course description, word-for-word. “Look out from Elk Peak at Helens, now so far in the distance. And Adams, once so far away, now so close.” My mind searches to understand what I’m looking at. Adams is right there. And Helens is so far away. I think back to days? weeks? months? ago when I was next to Helens and Adams was so far away. I’ve traveled 155 miles on my own power. How am I supposed to understand that?

Just a taste of the Cascade, savored by other runners. (Scott Rokis)

I suddenly don’t care about racing anymore. I feel like I’m floating. As we descend of the slightly-sketchy rock face of the peak, another runner and pacer amble up. They’ll pass us on the way down to Klickitat. Oh well.

We bomb down to the aid, getting passed on the way in, of course. I can’t wait to get my still-soaked shoes off for a short respite. They’ve been drenched since the river crossings. Finally, we pop out on a small dirt road in a break from the trees. It’s startling how bright and warm it is. I'm not sure what time of day it is, but it feels like mid-afternoon. But maybe it’s not.

A very nice woman with a thick Eastern-Bloc accent attends to me. We explain the hypothermia and soaked feet, and they lay me up a reclining camp chair. A medic introduces himself and starts to work on my feet. They’re mushy and soft, with deep trenches running through them. He rubs them down with alcohol and sets up next to a gas-powered heat lamp. In the openness of the harsh sun, the heater feels vulgar and awkward.

I sit for longer than I want. But I don’t care. I’ve just been out there for 20 miles. And I have another daunting 20 to go before I see my crew and gear again. Jordan comes in (He must have slept somewhere. Lucky.) He leaves before me. The Eastern-Bloc woman offers to rub down my legs. I don’t particularly want it, but she seems very into it. She spends a lot of time on my calves. It’s getting weird.

After what feels like half an hour, we finally gather our things to leave. My feet are dry now, but despite our best efforts, my shoes are still woefully waterlogged. The moment I slip them back on, I feel the squish. Great. All that’s left to do is keep moving.

We thank everyone for their hospitality and slide off into the forest. The dark, foggy forest has given way to a bright, open one. Hyped on the aid station stop, I feel good, and we start to crank again. We roll through the hills, underneath the ancient pines. Things are looking up.

That’s when the mosquitoes hit. Not just a swarm. A cloud. They descend on us, thick and swirling. Never in my life have I seen anything like this. I swat them away, and I feel like I’m batting at seagulls. They nip at us. We shriek and try to outrun them. It’s no use. They’re everywhere.

After all these miles, it finally dawns on me: This race never gives you a break. As soon as you start feeling good at any point, you’ll suddenly get blindsided by some totally unforeseen thing that smacks you across the face and leaves you crying foul.

“I’ve got some wipes!” shouts Marc. Moments later, he produced two individually wrapped Off! wipes. God bless him. I’ve never seen mosquito wipes before, but I decide right then and there that they’re going in every race pack I ever carry from now on. We tear them open and frantically wipe our entire bodies down with them. Almost instantly the mosquitoes disappear. It’s a miracle.

Mosquito-free, we’re now left to make our way through the forest. The trail begins to wind up and down steep hillsides in seeming random fashion. I feel lucky to have Marc with me. I’d hate to be out here without him. I tell him that. “This is really remote, man. Like, really remote. If you got in trouble out here—like serious trouble—you’d be fucked.” I say this knowing we have still have 15 miles to the Twin Sister aid. I try imagining being out here without a pacer, but I can’t.

It’s hot now. I remember something about how the description said there was no water in this section. Marc pulls out his InReach and spies a small lake just off-trail. We make a small detour to refill our bottles, but mostly to just dump water over our heads. It’s a rare moment of pleasure.

It’s late afternoon, I think. Things start to get really fuzzy. I’ve now been up for two and a half days. No sleep. Hypothermia. A bad cold. Other stuff, probably. I can’t think straight. I just need to be at the aid station. It’s hours away. My waterlogged feet feel like I’m stepping on shards of glass with every step.

Marc is talking, but I sense myself snapping at him. Nothing’s funny anymore. Or fun. All I feel is the need to be somewhere else. I snap at Marc again. For a moment, I have clarity. I pull out of myself and see what’s happening.

“Hey dude, I’m really sorry I’m being a jerk. I’m literally in survival mode right now.”

I realize I’m no longer in control. My body has taken over. We’re in full “flight” mode. The only thing that Andy Pearson—the organism, the collection of cells and DNA—cares about right now is pure survival. I’ve lost agency over myself. The animal is taking over.

We start breathing through in through our nose… out through our nose… in through our nose… out through the nose. It’s loud and raspy. I realize we sound insane. But it’s the only thing that’s taking our mind off the pain in our feet, any bit. In through the nose… out through the nose… in through the nose… out through the nose… It’s working, a little. We’re running at full speed now. But I’m also feeling dizzy. I’m not sure how much longer we can keep this up. But at this point, we don’t care. We just need to not be here right now. In through the nose… out through the nose… in through the nose… out through the nose…

After about 30 minutes, I realize we’re actually going to pass out, and I pull on the brakes. We slow to a walk for a bit. My brain comes back online a little bit. I’m back in control.

“Hey Marc, I just had a pleasant thought.” “What’s that?” “At least I never have to run Badwater now.”

The afternoon wears on. We work our way through the forest. The aid station feels impossibly far away. At one point, Marc takes out his InReach and says we’re not too far away.

The landscape opens up, gets a little rocky. I’m beginning to teeter.

Another swarm of mosquitoes descends on us. Our Off! wipes must have worn off, and Marc doesn’t have any more. We pull out the old used ones he stuffed in his pocket and try to rub ourselves down again, but it doesn’t seem to work. We just have to run faster. Marc takes off. I can’t keep up. A massive hill rises in front of us. I can’t do it. Marc’s gone. Fully gone. He’s bounded up the hill. I’m at the bottom of it.

I suddenly feel alone. Utterly alone. I can’t believe he just left me. Despair floods in. I’m angry at him. I know it’s not fair. He’s out in the middle of nowhere getting his ass munched on mosquitoes like me, while he clocks 50-something miles to support my ill-advised misadventure. But it doesn’t matter. I feel so utterly fucking alone.

I trudge uphill. A hill that seems to never end. I sit down on a rock in protest. I can’t move. I wait a few minutes and then pick myself up again and trudge off. I make it to the top of the hill but don’t see Marc. A few more minutes, and I find him, waiting for me. He apologizes for jetting; he was just trying to get out of the mosquitoes. It’s total fair, and I push down my anger. He’s out here for me.

We move on. The sun sets. We’re back in the forest. Marc’s been with me since the middle of the night to the next day now to the next night again. And we’re just trying to go 37 miles. Damn.

We near the aid station. Or at least we think so. We’ve taken a turn-off, which should be a sign. I’m starting to get really wobbly. The lack of sleep, the distance, everything is compounded. I go through periods where I’m just not there. It’s something akin to blacking out. I’m coming full unraveled. My have never been in so much pain. I don’t actually know how I’m going to take each new step. I black out again momentarily.

The trail become narrow in places with tight ledges and drop-offs below. I think about how I’m glad to have a pacer and how it’s good I’m not super messed up right now. I wobble again. Maybe I am messed up. I can’t tell. I black out again. Probably. I’m not sure. I’m not sure I can finish this thing.

Finally, we turn a corner and see the aid below. Holy shit. We’re here.

I stumble into the Twin Sisters Aid Station (mile 177.5) feeling like I’m floating. Everything is surreal. But I’m seated in a camping chair. A hamburger materializes in my hands. I can’t believe how good I suddenly feel. I’m not running anymore. I’m safe. My brain and body relax. I start cracking jokes with aid station people.

That’s when someone pops his head into the tent. ��Welcome, welcome! Tell me what’s going on.” He grabs my arm. “You got a hamburger, great. What’s going on? My name’s Mark. I’m going to help you out.” He grins widely. His breath smells of whiskey. I realize that he’s totally hammered. “We’re going to take good care of you. Let’s get those shoes off and see those feet.”

He wrenches wrestles my shoes off. My soles are a horror shoe. White, puckered, fleshy, with deep crevices running through. “I’m so excited to have you here!” Mark the Medic twitters. “I wait all year to come up here and help you crazies patch up your feet.” He’s an odd bird, but very sweet, and I don’t care. Anyone willing to take care of my 180-mile feet is an angel. Mark and his assistant go to work.

They do all sorts of things to my feet. What? I don’t know, but it seems like magic. I just huddle under my blankets and munch on my hamburger. It feels weirdly nice to be fawned over like this. I’m warm and safe. Pleasure radiates from my brain.

Masticated feet are hilarious! (Peter Dawson)

Not so funny anymore. Look at how white my feet are. (Erin Garnder Dawson)

We talk about my hypothermia, and Mark tells me that my body was probably just so worn out it couldn’t produce its own heat anymore. That was almost 20 hours ago at this point, but obviously I was still compromised. On top of that, my head cold is full blown now. Snot and other things are pouring out of me, and my voice fades in and out barely able to escape my throat. If John Mayer’s girlfriend’s body was a wonderland, mine is the opposite of that.

“I need to sleep,” I tell them. Somehow, this time, I’m pretty sure it won’t be a problem. Mark says they have a tent all set up for me with a cot. He and Peter help me up and lead me off into the dark. They deposit me into a small tent with a cot and sleeping bag waiting. “Here,” Mark says. “Wrap yourself around this.” He hands me a Nalgene full of hot water. “It’ll help bring your core temperature up.” I put it in the bag with me. It’s very warm. I’m instantly worried that I’m going to pee myself, but don’t think much past that.

“This is so cool,” I tell Mark and my crew who are staring down at me on the cot. They look inquisitively. “I’ve never been this messed up in a race before. Like, I’ve always seen people laying on cots and stuff. But now I’m actually getting to be one of them. It’s never happened before. This is so cool.” They laugh, knowing I’m insane. I probably am.

I tell them to get me up in 90 minutes. They leave. For a moment I worry that I’m not going to be able to fall asleep yet again.

Suddenly I slip into inky, warm blackness.

Resurrection

I sit up straight in bed. Time to run! I think excitedly. I look down at my watch. It’s been exactly 89 minutes since they left me in the tent. Just then, I hear a ziiiiip at the door. Peter pokes his head in. “Hey man, you alive?” “Yeah man,” I grin. “I’m alive.”

It’s turned dark outside. I hobble out of the tent, happy to have not peed myself. Back in the aid station tent, I feel like a totally new person. Mark the Medic checks my feet again, giving them a once-over. “Look at those things! Beautiful!” he exclaims. “Almost good as new!” I had to give it to him, they did almost look like they hadn’t spent the last 20 hours soaking in water.

Twenty-nine miles left. Easy-peasy. I gather my new gear, scarf another half a hamburger. During my downtime, I’ve managed to slip to tenth place. I’m just happy to be alive, so I take my sweet-ass time.

Finally, I’m ready. Peter’s ready. We wave a merry goodbye to everyone, and we’re off.

It’s a 2.7-mile trek back to the main Klickitat Trail, all uphill. I run it. I don’t just feel good. I feel great. Holy shit, I think. We cross paths with a few runners coming downhill to the aid, and I cheerily say hello. I even start to drop Peter a little. Maybe it’s because of my 180-mile warmup. Either way, we top out much more quickly than I expect.

Back up top, we fly down the trail, catching up about everything that’s transpired in the last 20 hours or so. The night is cool—not cold—and we soon feel pleasantly warm inside our clothes. After a few miles, we hit the short out and back to Pompey Peak. We climb the switchbacks up to the bald rock peak. Everywhere around us, we can sense the mountains and the tree, and we joke that it might be a lovely view. But in truth, it is. The sky is an explosion of stars above us. We linger a moment, savoring the rewards of our deep labor.

Another runner takes in the night sky on top of Pompey. (Scott Rokis)

“It’s all downhill from here,” I tell Peter as we drop off the top. And it’s true. The trail eventually turns downward, and we begin descending quickly. Just as I feel like maybe I’m home free, we come to a massive downed tree laying across the trail. I groan with annoyance, but in the grand scheme, it’s not so bad.

I detach my/Marc’s Leki poles, pull myself up and top, reattach the poles and then use them to hop down on the other side. We continue on. A minute later, we come to another tree. Argh. I do it again.

This time, when I clear the tree, I see another one just a dozen feet again. And then there’s another. And another. It’s an absolute mess out here. Fallen trees everywhere. Fallen trees that fell over more fallen trees. Each time, I have to detach my poles to free my hands to climb over. Each time, I grunt. Each time, it sucks more and more.

I don’t remember anything about this in the course description, I tell Peter. But here we are.

“I didn’t really expect to be doing fucking parkour at mile 185.”

Any happiness that I was riding before has been totally sucked out of me. I’m annoyed and miserable again. Then, I realize that I’m annoyed and miserable. I pull out of myself to see what’s happening. I remember my revelation from earlier. The moment you feel good out here, the race punches you in the face. No, I think. I’m not going to give in. I fight against the anger—not super convincingly—but I fight nonetheless. I don’t let it take hold.

It lasts for maybe a mile and a half. (It’s hard to have any objective understanding of distance at this point.) It’s awful. But I don’t give in to the anger. What’s the Yoda quote? “Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.” Well, I was already suffering so no point in throwing the other three in, right?

Eventually, the trees thin out and the trail flattens. We emerge from the forest into… green. Just all green.

We’re in a green tunnel. Green grass underneath, overgrown green grass to our left and right, green trees beyond that. We’re on what appears to be an old road, now reclaimed by nature. There’s a slight downhill grade so we just roll with it. It’s nice to be getting easy miles in again. It’s also, just really… green. It’s all we can talk about. Our headlamps enhance the strange tunnel-ness of it all. I use it as fuel, ticking my speed upwards. Time to get this shit done.

The green tunnel seems to last forever. I’m running my face off. After a while, the monotony of the speed and vegetation creates mental drag. I occasionally stop to walk for a minute or two before picking the pace up again.

After an hour(?), we see something in the distance. Something manmade. It must be the aid station. As we near it, it gets smaller and smaller. Once we’re finally on it, I realize it’s a table stocked with bottles upon bottles of tequila. Gag. “Oh, this is the surprise that Candice promised out here.” I think back to the pre-race briefing where the RD hinted that she might have a surprise out here for us. For some reason, I figured it’d be someone in a bigfoot suit to scare us. I’m momentarily grateful because I don’t think I could handle that shit right now. Either way, there are a lot of nonsensical things about this sport, but ultrarunners’ fascination with taking a shot of tequila late in the race I will never understand. Needless to say, we do not partake.

On the upside, I assume this is a sign that the aid station is close. Ten more green minutes later, we round a bend, and the Owen’s Creek Aid Station (193.5 miles) comes into view. It’s all flood lights, heat lamps, and sizzling bacon. There’s also another—shall I say, “difficult”—runner already there. His family stands around him, trying to appease his whims. He snaps at them, complaining about stuff. I’m just happy that it looks like I’ll be moving up a place.

I want to get out there fast. I grab a plate of eggs and bacon—because, fuck it—and coffee—because, also fuck it. I finish half of everything and then declare it’s time to go.

The End

Thirteen miles to the finish. I check my watch again. It’s around 4:30 in the morning. All day my goals have been slipping. From CR to winning to sub-60 to just staying alive. But now with 7:00am on the horizon—meaning a 70-hour finish—I have a something to shoot for again. It’s going to be close though. I check my race plan, just 385 feet of elevation gain. Hell yeah.

Peter and I barrel down the gravel-and-rock road. It’s two miles to the paved road and the final leg of my journey. We make it to the road and turn left. Pavement. Civilization. Weird again.

As we pound the road, we can feel the earth starting to slowly awaken. Sunlight yawns and gently shakes the slumber from its eyes. Clouds of mist billow and rise from meadows next to us. Sleepy cows stare back at us, suspiciously. I feel alive myself.

The road is remote and desolate. There’s no shoulder whatsoever, so we find ourselves hugging the sides, hoping no one comes barreling around a curve. It’s Monday morning, after all, I think to myself. What will someone on their way to work think if they see my bag of bones shambling along the road? And then I think, Holy shit. Monday morning. People are going to work.

But I have a deadline to hit. I can smell the barn. I’m cranking. In fact, I start to pick up speed. I feel like I’m flying. I feel like I’m running faster than anyone’s ever run before. I’m in a full-out sprint.

Just then, I realize there are mile markers along the roadside. Great. I can see just how fast I’m going. I hit a mile marker and note the time. A few minutes later, I see the next one. I check my watch again. Well that can’t be right. Ten and a half minutes? I note the time again. The next mile marker comes. Eleven minutes?? I feel like I’m running faster than I’ve ever run in my life. Really, I’m running 11-minute miles. Cool.

All things considered, it’s still pretty fast. I guess.

And it was because a few minutes later, we come upon another figure gimping along ahead of us. He’s listing ever-so-slightly to his right side, as all ultrarunners like to do at the end of a race. And he’s alone. Ouch.

“Hey.” He greets us. “Hey. Are we on the right side of the river?” Oh boy.

“Yeah. This is right.”

“Oh, ‘cuz I thought we were supposed to be over on that side.” He points across to the opposite bank, far away, which has just disappeared from view in a jumble of forest.

“Well, that’s where we’re going. But we’re going to get up to another road and then turn to take a bridge over it.” I can’t believe I can recall all the details of the course three days in. Wish I had remembered something about all those downed trees…

Our friend is still confused, but at least he’s moving. So we bid him adieu and press on. Eighth place.

I like the number eight. That sounds good to me.

We pick our speed up again and start flying (relatively speaking). Eventually, the road passes a cluster of house, barns, and garages. More civilization. A good sign.

We turn onto a more major road. Another good sign. I can see the map in my head. I’m so close. So close. Holy shit I’m close.

At some point, Peter tells me he has to stop to take care of “some business” but tells me to keep going, and he’ll catch up.

Suddenly I’m alone again.

But it’s a good alone. Just me and the countryside. I pass more houses. Front yard set up in permanent yard sales. A sign for a farmer’s market. Tractors. A truck rumbles past.

Finally, I see a bridge. I know this bridge. I saw this bridge three days ago. I’m close.

I cross the bridge and the river below. I’m close.

A few hundred more feet, and I’m at an intersection. Of a highway. With gas stations and cars and stuff. More civilization. It’s all surreal.

I cross the highway and follow the flags onto a smaller backroad than curves to parallel the highway.

This is it. The home stretch. All alone, I think back over the last few days. How many has it been? What is today? I think back over everything that’s transpired. The moments of despair. The moments of elation. My crew. The mountains. The out-there-ness. The volcano. The forests. The hypothermia. The doubt. The quesadillas. (Oh, the quesadillas.) The shoes. The changes within myself. The miles. How many has it been?

I savor every step now. I will not be back here again soon.

There’s a gentle curve in the road, and the high school comes into view. A minute later, I find myself passing through its fence, into the parking lot. I see cars and trucks and piles of gear scattered everywhere and being sorted. It hit me how much goes into this. Not just my journey but everyone’s.

I follow a small sidewalk, through a short chain-link fence, and suddenly I’m on the track. It’s soft underfoot. Almost disarmingly so. It’s black. It has long white lines that I follow. I hear people cheer from the shanty town of awnings across the field, at the finish line. The finish line.

I take in everything. The pine trees. The brown, parched grass on the infield. The sky. The electrical wires. A pair of crows perched above. My mind floats inside my skull.

Smelling the bar, hard. (Scott Rokis)

Moments away. (Marc Laveson)

I turn the final corner and look down the barrel of the finish, now populated with the screaming skeleton crew of a crowd.

There’s nothing left inside me except joy. Pure, vibrating joy. I’m swimming through it. My face already hurts from grinning.

And then, I’m done. I cross the finish line. It’s been 69 hours, 29 minutes, and 5 seconds. 206.5 miles—call it 208 with the sabotage. I’m done. It’s done.

Done. (Scott Rokis)

Like, really done. (Scott Rokis)

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What running 208 miles feels like looks like. (Scott Rokis)

After The Party, It’s The After-Party

I lean over my poles as people swoop in to congratulate me. Candice is there. We exchange a few blurry impressions of the course. I tell her it’s the most beautiful course I’ve ever been on. Someone else asks if I want to eat anything. I never want to eat anything right after a race. I decline. “Maybe a grilled cheese?” she offers. “That sounds suspiciously like a quesadilla,” I shoot back. Everyone laughs. I laugh because I’ll never eat another quesadilla again in my entire life.

They sit me down in a camping chair and cover me with a blanket. I suddenly become acutely aware of how badly I stink.

What the feeling of three days of running looks like.

Fat feet. (Toenails previously removed.)

Our listing, confused road friend appears a short time later. After lingering at the finish line the requisite amount, I’m ready to get into a hotel room and shower. We pile into the massive Suburban. With the enclosed space, I once again become acutely aware of how badly I smell. I apologize to my crew. I’ve put them through enough already.

The sun is fully up now. It’s warm and aggressive. I’m standing in the parking lot of a hotel I booked months ago. I get in the room throw my bags down and slump into the shower. After 20 minutes(?)—time is meaningless—I get out, throw on clothes, and check my phone. There’s a message from Ethan Newberry on it. “Dude, congrats on the finish!!! Do you want to be on Ginger Runner Live tonight?” Sure, that sounds like an intense way to end this whole thing.

I exit my room out into the harshness of the late morning sun. I need food now. In cut-off shorts and flip-flops, I stagger down to the highway and follow it for a half mile until I come to Packwood, Washington’s finest—and also only—grocery store. Inside I proceed to buy the most insane things I can find. A platter of bright red colored Chinese pork of some sort. A bag of spicy pickles. Cheese sticks. A bag of cheese-flavored potato chips. A pint of cookie dough ice cream. A six pack of some local IPA. My only solace is that I’m probably not the strangest thing to blow through this roadside grocery store.

This is the kind of quality advertising the have in Packwood. A picture of elk fighting with a Mountain Dew logo over it and a picture of another elk with a Pepsi logo over it with the tagline “Delivering the fun.”

As I get to the register to check out, the cashier asks me how I’m doing. As I go to answer, I simply croak. A “…” Nothing comes out. A weak noise escapes my mouth, like a squeaking, frightened animal. I try again. Again, nothing comes out. I smile. She smiles back at me. It’s awkward.

The cold I’d been experiencing all race has finally fully manifested itself. Somehow between the stress of the miles and the illness, my vocal cords have packed up and gone home. I’m totally incapable of any sort of speech. I simply croak a “thanks” and retreat back to the hotel, where I proceed to feast and take a second bath again because, hey, I earned it.

The hotel after every 100-miler or more is always a blur. This is no exception. I knock back a beer and turn the Discovery Channel on. At some point, the Deadliest Catch lulls me to sleep.

I wake two hours later. The pain in my legs is all-consuming. I test my voice again. Nothing. I have to be on Ginger Runner Live in three hours. I brew some tea in the hotel coffee maker and add some lemon and honey that I’ve procured somewhere.

After two cups of tea, I venture out of my room. I hate sleeping.

It’s mid-afternoon now. I hobble down to the Blue Spruce Saloon. Anything called a saloon automatically has my vote. The enter and find a vast expanse of a place. But everyone is huddled around the curved bar at the front. Who patronizes the Blue Spruce Saloon in Packwood, Washington, at 3:00 in the afternoon on a Monday? Old people. RV types. Locals too. They’re all in there getting hammered off $3 Coors Lights. It’s fascinating.

I try to order a Stardust IPA—the most expensive and obviously douchiest—thing on the menu. The woman working the bar can’t understand a word I say. Mostly because I’m not really saying words. Just sounds. It’s instantly embarrassing again. I feel like the weirdo in a bar of retirees getting schlitzed at 3:00 in the afternoon. To be fair, I guess I am the weirdo who just ran 208 miles.

I enjoy my beer and the general feeling of not-running before hobbling back to the hotel.

At around 6:00 we start Ginger Runner Live. I’ve now slept a collective 3.5 hours in 3.5 days. Groovy.

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I always love talking to Ethan and Kim, and it’s fun to be able to talk about the race with such fresh, raw emotions. At one point, Ethan turning to Kim and says, “I don’t think we’ve ever had someone on the show who just finished a race while the race was still going on.” It’s true. People are still out there running. God bless them. I’m not.

A few times, my voice goes out entirely and is replaced by what can only be described as a death rasp. At least it adds to the drama of the whole thing, I think.

But I make it through. After a really fun interview, I sign off. Now there is nothing left to do but let the sounds of the Discovery Channel lull me to sleep once more.

Now, I am finally, officially done.

I ate so many bowls of free Fruit Loops at breakfast the next morning.

And I enjoyed a Bigfoot beer beneath Mt Rainer.

Looking Back

Running 200+ miles is, without a doubt, the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It broke me down. It made me dig deeper than I’ve ever had to. It asked everything of me.

I got exactly what I wanted out of it. It scared me. Not just “scared” me. It scared me on a deep, animal level.

When I finished I said I would never do that again. In fact, I said no human being should ever do that. It was dreadful.

But it was also unimaginable. Unimaginably beautiful. Unimaginably remote. Unimaginably brutal. Unimaginably whole.

I came closer to understanding own mortality and my own immortality in a single event. I came closer to touching the universe and everything in it.

The more time I have to reflect back on my experience, the more deeply affecting I realize it was.

I believe.

#race #ultrarunning #Bigfoot200 #200miler

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redwoodoriginalfirstnine · 5 years

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Roadtrip [SOA] Chapter Two Part One

Chapter Two: Desert Bound Part One

Author’s Note: Hey guys! Sorry it has taken me this long to get this out, it’s in two parts so keep any eye out. Remember, feedback is always welcome!!

—

The smell of bacon and light small talk rouses me from the surprisingly heavy slumber I slipped into during the night. I slowly kick the covers away and roll over allowing my legs to dangle off the side of he bed while dragging a hand through my messy hair. With a low groan I slip off the bed and land on the floor stumbling some as Jax comes rushing over to me with a plate piled high with food.

“Morning darlin hope you’re ready for a fun filled day.” Jax states as I take the plate from his hands. I flash him a small smile before dropping down onto Juice’s bed which will more than likely wake him up but I hold no regrets for doing so.

“Oh so excited.” I reply as he smirks and turns back around to the others who are sitting around the small dining table. I study the plate in my hands before picking up a piece of bacon and stuffing it into my mouth as a happy hum comes out in return. The bed shifts underneath me as Juice rolls over to inspect his surroundings, once he realizes it’s just me he sighs and falls back into his pillow.

“Morning, I miss anything of importance?” Juice questions as he runs a tired hand over his face, obviously still somewhat asleep. I shake my head no since my mouth is full of food and I motion to the plate in my lap. He chuckles softly before nabbing one of the biscuits and devouring it within a matter of seconds.

“What are we going to do today?” Tig asks as he pours himself another cup of coffee. Jax stops mid chew to look at everyone before cutting his eyes over to Juice who rolls over and begins fumbling around under his bed. Once he finds what he’s looking for-the map- he sits back up and unfolds it to see the next circled destination.

“Today’s exciting trip will take us to the desert!” Juice states excitedly before tossing the map to the end of the bed and grabbing the last piece of bacon on my plate, “hopefully someone packed sunscreen.”

“Wha the hell is out in the desert worth goin to see?” Chibs asks from his bunk across the aisle, “besides sand.”

“Well, for starters we’re going to take a short hike to see Darwin’s Falls and to wrap the day up, that is if we have time, Randsburg ghost town.” Juice replies as he shimmies out from under the blanket so that he’s now sitting shoulder to shoulder with me.

“A hike? In the desert?” Tara questions from the dining table.

“Yes, it’s only two miles round trip and the end result is so worth it.” Jax states as he begins to tidy up the kitchen area obviously itching to get on the road, “anyone wanna make sure Clay and Gemma are up and ready to move?”

“Already done.” Happy states as he suddenly appears at the front of the bus with the two aforementioned people standing behind him.

“Right then, everyone change or do whatever you need to do and we’ll get on the road. Are the tents put up?” Jax questions as everyone scrambles to throw away plates and be the first to the bathroom. Tig and Opie sprint down the aisle in an attempt to beat one another and to avoid being hit I slide further back onto Juices bed. Once everything is cleaned and everyone has changed into something clean Jax double checks to make sure everything is fastened properly before setting out on the road.

The drive from Santa Monica to Death Valley ends up being a little over five hours. The drive of course consists of several stops to stretch legs and for more than one bathroom break. Not too long after the last pit stop Jax eases the bus off of the main highway and onto the dirt road that leads to the trailhead. For a split second the road remains nice and flat, but about a half a mile in it turns to hell and of course I made the bright decision to remain sitting on Juice’s bed. As the bus makes its way down the sketchy road I bounce up and down and side to side smacking my shoulder roughly against Juice’s.

He wraps his arm around shoulders as an attempt to keep me in one place and as a buffer, but unfortunately it doesn’t work. I glance around the bus and find that i’m not the only one flying through the air and grabbing onto things as a feeble attempt to remain grounded. One particularly rough spot causes me to smack my head against the wall and nearly come crashing down on Juices lap. The same rough spot sends Chibs tumbling from his bed and Happy and Tig to bang heads together which of courses sends people into fits of laughter as they curse loudly and rub their now sore heads.

“I’m so sorry Juice.” I mumble loud enough for him to hear me as we continue on down the rough road.

“The bigger question is, are you okay? You whacked your head pretty hard there.” He states as he adjusts himself on the bed before wrapping and arm around my waist so that i’m pulled firmly against his chest, “there, maybe that will buffer out some of the roughness.”

“Y-yeah, i’m okay.” I reply as my cheeks flush a bright red which I try really hard to ignore. The blush sprawled across my cheeks doesn’t go unnoticed though because once Chibs resituates himself on his bunk he shoots me this knowing smile and a thumbs up. I roll my eyes at him just as the bust comes to a skidding stop in a open area surrounded by barren hills and a few mountains with fauna.

“We’re here! Everyone out, make sure you wear sunscreen and at least carry a bottle of water or two.” Jax states happily as he shuts the bus off and opens the doors. Several people scramble to get off the bus but I take my time wanting to revel in the warmth of Juice’s arms, but he soon grows antsy so I slip out of his arms and off his bed. I stretch for a few moments before kneeling down next to his bed in search of the backpack I opted on bringing with me knowing full well that i’d use it for something. Not seeing it under Juice’s bed I glance over to Chibs’ bed and happily find what I was searching and with quick hands I yank it out and sling it over my back. By the time I stand back up Juice is already ambling off the bus leaving me as the only one left so I jog down the aisle and hop down the stairs and out into the dry, humid air of Death Valley.

I gently push the doors of the bus closed behind me before turning around only to come face to face with Tara, “Hey everyone, [Y/N] has a backpack.”

“No, no, no there’s no way I can carry all of this stuff.” I state as everyone bum rushes me with water bottles, towels and various other sundries.

“It’s honestly not that much.” Tara replies with a soft smile, “if need be we can take turns carrying it or we can always sweet talk one of the guys into doing it for us.”

With a low sigh I pull off the backpack and unzip it before holding my hands out for their belongings. I don’t keep track of who hands me what but by the time everyone's done the backpack is full with towels, bottles of water and sunscreen, an extra pair of clothes, a camera and a few other random objects. After I force the backpack to zip all the way closed I heave the heavy bag up and onto my shoulders as a few of the larger items dig into my back.

“Ugh, can we get this thing started i’m already pouring buckets over here.” Gemma states loudly as Jax sets off down the trail in an attempt to smooth over the already tense momma bear.

The first part of the trail is smooth with a few easy climbs but as we continue to press on we begin to climb more frequently and cross streams. I was just about to give in and call it quits because climbing with an overloaded backpack is exhausting, but low and behold Happy comes to the rescue. He easily slips the bag off of my shoulders and over my head without missing a beat. I raise an eyebrow and get ready to question what he’s doing but he waves me off and offers a hand as we climb a rather steep hill.

As I clamber up the hill my foot slips and I end up tumbling head first into Happy’s chest. He quickly wraps an arm around my waist in order to keep the two of us up right and as I pull away I can’t help but catch a glimpse of something in his eyes. I clear my throat and step away from him before falling in behind Opie who is bouncing on the heel of his feet out of pure excitement. The trail continues on for about another half mile before the canyon walls start to close in on us forcing us to turn right and follow Darwin’s creek. As soon as I see water my heart skips a beat as my own excitement begins to pour forth in the form of a huge smile and a nearly silent squeal. Jax continues to lead us further and further into the canyon and the deeper we go the more vegetation and life becomes more evident to us.

Toads and frogs skamper away from our group as we pass by several tiny ponds and small cascades as we continue our ascent to the larger falls. The further we climb into the canyon the more bushwhacking Jax and Tig had to do, but before long we reach one of the main attractions- the plunge pool. As I near the plunge pool my eyes widen at all of its beauty, the pool itself isn’t that deep but the water is extremely inviting. The waterfall drops down onto a rock splitting the stream into two as it pours into the pool, the entire area is surrounded by greenery and even a couple of small trees.

“It’s absolutely stunning.” Gemma mumbles as Clay walks up beside her catching her hand in his as he does so.

“I agree, this place is stunning. Nice pick Jax.” Opie states as he and a couple of the others break off and start pulling off their boots, socks and rolling up their pants legs so that they can wade out into the water. I look around the group for Happy and when I do find him he’s currently passing out a few of the items from my backpack, I quickly take the opportunity and head over to retrieve my own water bottle. After I take a couple of swigs from the bottle I follow suit and remove my shoes and socks before rolling up my pants legs.

“Be careful [Y/N], some of those rocks are covered in algae and they’re really slick.” Opie states as I meet up with him by the plunge pool.

“Thanks for the forewarning!” I chirp back happily as I slowly begin to wade out to where Juice, Chibs, Tara and Jax are splashing water at each other. I take my sweet time maneuvering the slick rocks but unfortunately about six feet out I meet my match as my left foot comes down on an extremely slick rock. My feet shoot out from under me and I soon find myself sitting in knee deep water, the area falls silent for a few seconds before it erupts in laughter.

“A-are you okay?” Tara asks as Juice slowly makes his way over to where I’m sitting.

“Perfectly fine, with my klutz self I should have seen this coming.” I reply with a small laugh as the same thing suddenly happens to Juice a few feet away from where I’m sitting. The sight before me causes me to bust out in laughter, instead of Juice ending up like I did he was fully submerged in the water. He comes up sputtering and wiping the water from his face as realization dawns on him that he made the same mistake and went a little too fast on the rocks.

“Well I think i’ve had enough fun here for one day.” Juice mutters as he begins carefully getting up from where he’s sitting, “[Y/N], you sure you’re okay?”

“Oh i’m perfectly fine, my tailbone might be a little sore but other than that i’m okay.” I reply as Jax soon finds himself submerged under the water as well. Once we’re all righted and not slipping on the rocks anymore the four of us slowly begin our exit from the plunge pool where we are greeted by Chibs and Happy who are holding towels.

I sheepishly take one of the towels from Happy and wrap it around my waist where the majority of my clothes are soaked. Jax and Juice follow suit and not too long after that we all agree that by the time we make the hike back down the canyon it’ll be time for a later lunch and one more stop for the day. We gather everything we brought with us and quickly pull on on our shoes before Jax takes point once more and begins to lead us back to the bus.

Surprisingly the trek back to the bus didn’t take nearly as long as the walk to the waterfall. Once the bus comes into view the group splits up so that the ones who are wet can change into dry clothes while the others seek out food. As soon as I set foot on the bus I make a mad dash to my bunk where I grab a change of clothes and sprint to the bathroom. The moment I grab the door handle and twist to open it my heart sinks, someone has already beaten me there. I quickly glance around and deduce that it must be Juice since Jax is still outside of the bus chatting up Tara. With a low huff I turn around to the closest bed and contemplate stripping down really quick like, the shiver that runs up my back in that moment pretty much seals the deal.

I glance back over my shoulder double checking to make sure Juice is still locked away in the bathroom before proceeding. In a hurry I unbutton and shimmy out of my wet pants and underwear making sure I quickly pull on a dry pair. Waisting no time I yank off my wet top and pull a dry one on before making a grab for the pair of pants I sat down on the bed.

“Damn,” a soft voice whispers from behind me. I freeze with pants in hand as my cheeks begin to heat up and redden, my mind already spinning trying to form words. Ever so slowly I turn around to face Juice who’s own face looks red, his eyes dart around before connecting with mine.

“I’m sorry, I thought I’d be done way before you.” I mumble lowly as Juice takes a tentative step towards me.

“No need to be sorry, you’re absolutely perfect and I was just caught off guard and opted to admire versus acknowledge my presence.” He replies softly while trapping me between the bed and himself. I absentmindedly fiddle with the pair of pants in hand as he inches closer and closer to the point our noses are almost touching. Juice hesitantly reaches up with his right hand and cups my cheek, his eyes search desperately within mine for anything that says no.

“Juice?” I whisper softly, my heartbeat picking up as my mind becomes incresingly lost in the moment.

“Yeah?” he answers in return, his warm breath fanning out across my face.

“Are you going to kiss me or continue to torture me?” I retort with what little confidence that I can conjure up. Juice doesn’t say aything and wastes no time in dipping his head and pressing his warm, slightly chapped lips against mine. My eyes flutter closed as our lips glide against one anothers, our noses bumping against each other as the pair of pants fall from my hands. Now that my hands are free they instantly reach out for Juice’s chest where my fingers become intertwined in his shirt in an attempt to pull him closer. The hand on my cheek migrates around to the back of my head holding me close to him as his free hand lands on my hip. I don’t wish to pull away from Juice but the need for air becomes a little to overwhelming and I force myself to part from him. Silence falls around us as we stand there clutching one another breathing heavily, our eyes connect once more and this time i’m able to clearly see all of the new found emotions within them.

Before he can say anything to me the bus shakes signalling that others are climbing on in order to leave for the next destination. Juice very quickly swoops in and presses a gentle kiss on my forehead before stepping away from me and making his way back up to the front of the bus. I quickly yank the pair of pants off of the floor and pull them on while trying to compose myself which I manage to do just in time. As I step around the bunkbed I nearly run smack into Gemma who’s wearing one of her see all, know all smiles which makes my blood run cold.

“Everything okay sweetheart?” she asks me as I step around her so that she can go to the bathroom.

“Yes ma’am, just happy to be out of the wet clothes I was wearing.” I reply as I stop, turn and scoop up the said wet clothes, “is everyone ready to go?”

“I believe so, I’m just running to the bathroom real quick and then we’re pulling and heading to our last stop.” Gemma replies before entering the bathroom and closing the door behind her. I hurry over to my shared bunk and stuff the wet clothes into a laundry bag before heading up to the front of the bus and claiming a seat next to Opie at the dinning table. Jax comes bouncing up the steps of the bus with a huge grin on his face which causes some of the patrons already seated to groan loudly.

“What’s with the creepy smile brother?” Tig questions as he leans further back into the warn couch, the springs popping underneath his weight when he shifts. I glance around the bus in search of something to occupy myself with, but find that my gaze has landed on Juice who’s intently focused on a rubiks cube he’s picked up.

Jax clears his throat as he drops down in the driver’s seat and closes the doors, the smile he’s wearing never faltering for one second, “Oh you know, I’m just bubbling with excitement over the fact that not only are we going to tour he town, we’re actually going to be staying the night there.”

“What? Why in the hell are we going to be staying at this place when there are more apporpriate camping grounds nearby?” Clay asks from one of the small lounge chairs by the door, “there’s no need.”

“Why, you scared of ghosts old man?” Jax retorts as the bus fires up drowning out a few of the laughs that casually appear from Jax’s witty retort.

“I’m not afraid of no damn ghost son, I just don’t want you’re mother and I sleeping on some hard ass desert ground. Do you know how bad that is for your back?” Clay snaps back, agitation becoming more and more apparent.

“Aye, we’ll protect ya from all of the ghosts and goblins Pres.” Chibs states while laughing and slapping his knee. I can’t help but chuckle myself which soon grows into fully on laughter that spreads like wildfire through the bus. Clay shakes his head angrily but drops the conversation as Jax directs the bus back down the path they traveled earlier to get to the falls. The travel time from Darwin Falls to Randsburg is a little over an hour and a half and within that time most people have dozed off or fallen to the now intense game of Uno.

I’m two cards away from unoing out and I can feel the draw four pressure coming from Opie, Chibs, Happy and Juice. Tara sits next to me in the same position and as Juice goes to lay down the next card Jax slams on the breaks sending the ever growing stack of cards skidding off the table and onto the floor. I groan loudly and toss the few remaining cards in my hand onto the table followed by everyone else.

“Anybody a winner?” Jax asks as he turns off the main road and onto yet another dirt road. I glance up at the mirror and catch him grinning ear to ear knowing full well that he’s ended the game in an upsetting manner.

“Nope, we’ll never know.” Juice quips back in an agitated manner that dissipates just as a quick as it appeared when we lock eyes.

“Well, you can always start a new one and put a twist on it.” Jax chirps back happily which catches my attention and when I glance over at him he smirks and winks at me. I quickly catch on to what he’s implying and shake my head no, but he’s bound and determined to push strip uno.

#sons of anarchy #soa #happy lowman #jax teller #juice ortiz #tig trager #chibs telford #opie winston #soa roadtrip

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bartok-not-bartalk · 5 years

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This Was Commissioned By the Vampire

On Modern Mythology

Just because paganism isn’t a largely accepted term anymore, humans have always, and will always continue to be polytheistic, it’s just that these tiny associations and devotions have become so normalized, so pushed down into monotony, that so many don’t even notice. However, many a truth is spoken in jest, and some seem to realize more than others, even if they themselves believe their joking. All fairytales and mythologies spring as trees grown around seeds of truth., though indeed I’ve changed the names in this particular one to lend it more to fiction.

The vampire is called Nona, and this piece is dedicated to her, as she started it with the idea of a curious but lazy vampire hanging around a group of fae in order to score free meals and because of friendships with members of the court. Did you know that a group of fae is called a court? We generally prefer team, because that’s what we are, technically, in the eyes of the school. But if the school was aware of the Geass, they weren’t telling, and we sure as hell weren’t asking.

What we did know was that we practiced at the Ridge, the Ridge had rules, and we followed those rules. Because of that, or possibly relating to that, the rules that governed the rest of the high school didn’t apply the same way to the team. We collectively referred to this as “the geass” because that’s what Cait called it— and as a captain, and one of the few actual fae on the team, she was more versed in the nuances of that type of magic than the rest of us.

As for the Ridge, as far as any of us could tell, it was Liminal, and possibly on a couple Ley lines, which was weird, because it wasn’t near anything important. Even the Kaspers, being descended from one of the old forest gods themselves, couldn’t tell much besides the fact that the Ridge was infused with old, old, magic, older than even their own lineage. Hence, its informal rules were handed down runner to runner as the team initiated new members and lost seniors, the gospel to a strange religion of pain and camaraderie, positive vibes and negative splits.

If you didn’t realize, we’re runners, and the Ridge is our training grounds, although such a crude term is insufficient to describe what it is exactly.

Anyways, The Rules:

Never run alone. The familiar can become new again without a second pair of eyes

Always wear a watch, or run with someone who does. Time keeps its own pace in the trails

Run warmup loop before starting any other circuits. The Ridge likes it when you say hello

Don’t leave anyone behind, and don’t become separated from your group. The forest throws voices back which are cast into it, especially near Cop Lake

The bent willow over the lake is the baptismal site under the three gods; Paceus, Speedeus, and Obeseus

There are apples to be found on Mother trail, but only if you aren’t looking

Runs aren’t complete until you slap the sign with the group you ran with. Don’t walk before you hit the sign, you’re not done yet

(rest of the story is under the cut)

Our Gods, and the High Priest

It was one of those mornings that the sun had seemed to rise early and burn off the dew that it could reach. Late June, but feeling like August. By nine am, it was near eighty degrees, and we were all mostly done with our sprints, held at Palzikistan in the burning sun. Twos and fours weren’t all that bad, just tedious in the suffocating heat. The geass was buzzing with languor and breathlessness, thirst, and anticipation. The push for those last fifty yards, the last twenty seconds. The baseball diamond we did our sprints around was at full sun, and the short oaks and coach’s car provided little shade.

Finally, the last of us finished and stood in a loose cluster around the water bottles for coach to assign cool-down. As he talked, [cool-down upper loop or any two miles in the trails back down to the casino for stretch as long as we were back by……… 9:30] the geass shifted, the consensus being that we weren’t really going to do cool-down, but run off as a group and pretend to. The geass wasn’t really good at specifics, but the likely destination was Cop Lake, being on upper loop and quite desirable being that it was summer and we just ran sprints.

The varsity guys took the lead of the pack, jogging up the path to Cop Lake to “run the loop”, and the rest of us followed, slowing at the trail head’s bottle neck to tiptoe our way up the reverse bank of the lake, gripping onto tree roots and watching our footing to ensure that none of us slid right back down. Isaac, Chris, and Chris were up in a flash, their abilities allowing them to bushwhack straight up, while the rest of us stuck to the trail. Must be nice to be part mountain goat.

Up the trail, we went left until we got to a gnarled willow, trunk bent and the primary branch out almost horizontal to the shallow water of the lake below. Isaac climbed up the trunk and out the primary limb, standing up with confidence that was impressive, especially from someone with hooves climbing a tree. As we watched, he announced that it was the time for the baptisms in the eyes of Paceus, Speedeus, and Obeseus for any second-years who hadn’t been baptized yet, and Cait explained that the ceremony entailed climbing up the tree, the High Priest (Isaac) saying the rites, and then jumping into the lake.

Stehlar was up first. He climbed up the tree after Isaac and crouched over the lake on the twisted limb, which swayed with the addition of his weight. Someone behind me whispered about one or both of them falling into the lake, and a few of us watched with a nervous eye, waiting for the inevitable. Still others watched the trail for coach, as technically we were supposed to be on cool-down on the loop around the lake, not jumping in it. But mostly we were watching Isaac stand on the limb with Chris, proclaiming him to be baptized in the eyes of Paceus, the provider of the intelligence and endurance to run a smart race; Speedeus, the giver of speed to pass competitors in the course; and Obeseus, protector from the fats. He yelled this to the lake, claiming it his right as the current high priest.

Then, like an unsure baby bird trying to fly the nest, Chris tried to jump off the limb, which heaved heavily under his weight before he plummeted like a stone into the lake. Several whooped, and soon Isaac and a few others joined him, pleading that we were all so sweaty anyways, coach wouldn’t notice the extra level of wet at stretch. Anyways, if he did, he didn’t say.

It’s Rude to Geass a Vampire

“Did anyone feed Nona?” I asked at the end of practice, not seeing the bat in either of her forms anywhere in the casino.

“I did”, Chris (Bertola) snickered, grinning in a way that I knew I wasn’t going to like what he’d done.

“Chris… you didn’t give her your own, did you?” Vampires could handle the blood of the geass’d, but the more potent the effect of the geass on someone, the more… curious the effects of their blood would be on any bloodsucker unfortunate to prey on them. It affected everyone differently, and some vampires even chose to drink fae or geass’d blood, but since the geass on the team involved the compulsion to run, and Nona wasn’t a fan of cardio, she generally steered clear, especially of the varsity runners.

“Nah,” Chris answered, “I told her to go ask Wert”

“Oh god,” I covered my face with my palm. “What happened.”

“She went that way,” he said, pointing out over the warm up hill, “Faster than I’ve ever seen her fly.”

“CHRIS” I exclaimed, “How many times do i have to tell you, geassing a vampire is extremely rude, and Nona doesn’t like cardio! She’s probably a few miles into Canada by now!”

“Maybe she’ll make it all the way back to Romania.”

“Wrong direction, bird brain, I’ll see if I can get Marin to catch her before she gets too far.” It truly was lucky that we had a venti on the team at times like this.

The Cult Meetings Before First Period

The best part about secrets is if they're out in the open all the time, people care less. It might be scandalous if someone’s cheating, but if the whole school knows and doesn’t care, then it’s old news. This was the principle most of us applied to the school rules. The whole school was cheating on the reality most people believed in, but since we all knew it, it wasn’t really that big of a deal.

Hence, technically the unwritten school rules required that students use glamours and refrain from taking advantage of any… supernatural abilities to excel in academics or other school activities, but like the cell phone rule, it was largely ignored as much as possible. So what if a senior’s footsteps sounded more like the clomping of hooves as they loped down the hallway to gym, because he was clearly wearing sneakers. Or that the selkies and sirens, and a few veela dominated the choral and dramatic arts, because no one could really prove anything without admitting that something might be amiss in the first place.

Such was observed with the clumping of the team before first period in the second floor main hallway around the lockers of the Kaspers and Noot. We still let people through, and there weren’t any fights or misconduct involved with our gathering, so it was fine. The rare human who had a locker in our clump was interesting to witness though. Since the school was located on an old crossroads, mildly liminal itself, there weren’t really many true, pure-blooded humans, but then again it was hard to find a pure blood anything anymore, especially in america. There were however a good many bloodlines that were extremely diluted, sometimes to the point where the family wasn’t even aware of their heritage, just moved to the town for some reason they couldn’t explain, drawn to it’s latent energy without even consciously knowing it.

In any case, on this particular day Maeve, a selkie removed several generations, was getting the percent error on the most recent chem lab from Liv and Noot. I was sitting on the ground with Mason and Caleb, doing geometry homework and helping Mason with his bio, not that he needed it, really. She must have realized something weird, like the fact that Sierra didn’t have a shadow (nephilim are beings of light therefore can’t create shadow), or that when Marin walked by there was a slight breeze even though we were indoors, because half joking, when Noot handed her lab back she asked “Jeez are any of you actually human?”

A bunch of us looked up, the upperclassmen smiling wryly. A freshman raised his hand, unironic. Noot snorted without even looking up from her phone.

“Mason, put your hand down.”

Emma lowered it for him.

“Glucose is C6H12O6” I said, tapping his biology notes. He paused and recorded the answer. Maeve was back to laughing with Noot and Liv over chem, and Andrew had joined them next to Liv. Elise and Angela were trying to see who could boil their water bottles faster, Elise using her breath and Angela relying on the tiny, green flames she held in her palm. Mason watched this with a slightly vacant gaze.

“What did she mean, ‘are any of us human?’” he asked, confused, “I mean, I know Isaac and Stehlar are satyr, and Cait, Emily, and Oni are… something, and Elise, but the rest of the team is normal, right?”

I smirked. “Mason, very few people here are what you would consider fully human. With this team in particular though, there is a geass involved.” Intent magic was pretty strong, and it was a little weird he hadn’t noticed, or recognized it for what it was, especially because he himself was at least a quarter empath, whether he knew it or not. They tended to be more sensitive to those kinds of magic than say, satyrs or venti.

“Isn’t that like a wish?” He inquired, watching as Elise’s water bottle boiled over, landing on Angela’s shoes and quickly evaporating again on contact.

“Kind of,” I started, “A geass is fae magic. Very old, very powerful, and very finicky. The geass on this team particularly connects us and keeps us safe, and allows the team to draw power off of our own running and the liminality of the Ridge, the catch being that it only lasts as long as we continue running, and is only as strong as our drive and dedication to it. Higher mileage, greater geass affect, tighter the team gets, and the easier we fit into the Ridge.”

He nodded, picking at a corner of his homework. “What do you mean, draw power?”

“For those of us that aren’t human, it enhances any latent abilities that may have been diluted by the generations, and it allows all of us to recover faster, run longer, and also gives us a slight emotional connection beyond what you would consider normal empathy. Like… if someone got injured, we’d know, and also how to find them.”

“What does it do to humans?”

“Well, first, while under it’s effect, you’re not human, you’re more like a fae/human hybrid of some sort, I’m not sure what it’s called…. ask Cait.”

He nodded again, jotting down the next answer to his assignment and looked over at Angela and Elise again. Elise was teaching Angela how to toast bread without burning it with her flames, though it was more comical to watch Elise herself breath fire onto her toast than Angela’s green palm flames (the later were more effective at not burning the toast).

“Without the geass are you human?” Mason asked, half-serious.

“Nah”

“What are you?” He asked, looking again pointedly at Angela and Elise.

“I’m not a dragon or a hedge witch, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s not an answer.” he said, smiling with a huff.

“Fine,” I said, giving in, “Without the geass, I’m part immortal on my mother’s side.” On the other side it was pretty obvious as to what I was, the last name Morozkovna didn’t exactly lend itself to subtlety. But Mason, and most everyone else in the student population, didn’t know the evolution of Rus’ surnames and so almost no one ever asked, and no one ever knew.

A secret in plain site is much less exciting than one trying to hide.

“Without the geass am I human?”

“Nah,”

“WHAT?!”

The Eldritch Horror and the Cameraman

“Morozkovna” I heard from behind me, “Are the early frosts this year your doing?”

I turned around.

“Hi Messina,” I started, waving to him with my coffee, “Why would I have anything to do with it?”

Messina smiled, and time hiccoughed, the same junior that had just walked past doing it again, the world seeming for a second like a rewound cassette tape. Very distinctive time magic. I rolled my eyes. It was too early in the morning to exorcise my cousin out of Messina.

“Mephisto, why the fuck are you possessing Nathan?” I asked, incredulous.

“He’s not possessing me.” Messina deadpanned, falling back into his normal voice. “I was just messing with you.”

“He was just a second ago, but since you’re able to apparently thwart possession in less than a second, please explain.”

Mephistopheles was a very old deity, chaos based, the illegitimate child of mortal fear of damnation and a nice cocktail of chaos magic and satanism. Not as old as my parents, though the chaos part of him came from my father’s brother, making him my cousin! Messina did have a fair bit of warlock in him, but even a full warlock would have a hard time freeing themselves of chaos magic and my idiot cousin.

“I summoned him, but used the wrong binding circle, I thought he was something besides what he was, and he escaped and possessed me.” Messina deadpanned.

“What got you back to being un-possessed that allowed you to keep some of his magic?”

“Oh no,” Messina corrected, ‘He’s still possessing my physical body, but after he possessed me I decided to possess him back. He wasn’t too happy about that.”

“No, I wouldn’t think so,” I responded absently, still processing the fact that my idiot cousin got summoned, possessed Messina, and then got possessed by Messina.

“Hey, is he seeing this now?” I asked

“Yes,” he said, laughing, “He’s furious you’re laughing at him,” he paused, as if listening, “something about you being a weakling who couldn’t even light a candle against the roaring, centuries old flame that is his power.”

I lost it at the candle. Well no shit Mephisto I can’t light a candle, my dominion is winter.

“Make sure to watch plenty of hallmark movies,” I instructed Nathan, “He hates happy endings.”

Prerace

Fridays were interesting. Especially later in the day. The excitement of the students caused… curious occurrences and thin wearing glamours. The chorus teacher wouldn’t hold any lessons after fifth period, because once a senior siren accidentally charmed a couple cellists in the next room over. The halls were crowded, and the flow of time didn’t seem to follow the normal laws. Even the teachers were affected, the english teacher’s horns and the smell of salt in one of the global teacher’s room not going unnoticed. The team didn’t even bother with glamour on Fridays, or concealing the geass. It was prerace, which meant a short workout and a pasta party. Our honest excitement killed even the strongest of our glamours even before the geass magnified it a few times. Glamours were concealment magic, and their price was restraint, making them simple to cast, but difficult to maintain when excited, or overly emotional in general.

Elise’s tail flickered in and out of existence, knocking backpacks at random. Angela crackled with sage-green energy, and Chris didn’t even try to conceal his hooves has he came down the hall with Lily. A pencil that Blake was holding sprouted a few leaves and tried to grow as he was doing trig, so someone gave him a mechanical. Even I let go a little, and frost creeped up the sides of the locker I was leaning against. Sierra was legitimately glowing, I’m pretty sure that Ruby’s feet weren’t touching the ground, and Nyah’s pants changed pattern with her movements, the bars of black and white that made up the lines in the geometric pattern folding over themselves and twisting like a kaleidoscope.

Finally, after eight long classes, school was over, and it was time for prerace. At 3:30 at least, Mau was first. Since we were banned from wall ball, Mau has taken the place for favorite pre practice game [besides drawasaurus, that is]. Mau is a game that was originally spawned from the Germanic game Mau Mau, though it is played differently every time. The only things that new players or outsiders to the game are told is as follows:

We’re playing Mau

We can’t tell you the rules, but it’s played similar to uno

While the game is in session we can’t talk

Generally, you lose until you figure out how the game is played. Sitting and watching the game played works too, but you learn faster when your own neck i s on the line; figuratively, of course. It’s taken as seriously as any practice, and as competitively as any race. Communication through the geass and other means with other players was also forbidden during Mau. Cait took care of that with a temporary contract agreed to verbally by all of the players by picking up the cards. Fae magic prevents a breech in contract, and besides most of us were non-human enough to be unable to even before that measure.

I get my hand and it frosts over immediately, its so bad. Messina smiles slowly at it from across the table, he being the only one partially exempt from the communication rule, as I’m not sure Cait knows about Mephisto. Emily starts the round, at Cait’s command of “Meeting in session”.

We all pick up our cards and Emily flips a 7.

#witchcraft #witch #creative writing #fae #magic #magick #running #cross country #geass #mythology

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thehikingviking · 3 years

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Devils Peak, Santa Cruz Island High Point

Devils Peak is the high point of Santa Cruz Island and lies just off the coast of Santa Barbara. To peak geeks, it boasts over 2,000 ft of prominence and over 25 miles of isolation. It is not high, nor necessarily difficult to hike, but the main challenge lies in getting there. Typically, peak baggers must charter a private boat across the Santa Barbara Channel. Making the crossing is heavily dependent on weather and can be quite pricey. To minimize the cost per person, filling the vessel with the maximum allotted passengers is the best pricing strategy aside from knowing someone with a boat. In this case 6 were allowed; Chad, Beer, Josef, Michael, Asaka and myself. A secondary personal challenge was to figure out what to do with Leif, our new born baby. While it would have been definitely possible for me to carry him to the top, the captain recommended for us to leave the baby on dry land (which we found out later proved to be the right call). Luckily, my parents were willing to spend that same weekend in Santa Barbara to visit my mom’s cousin, so we had baby sitters for the day. Asaka was not very happy with leaving the baby, and protested to me for the several months leading up to the trip. I could have left her behind, but I already skipped a previous outing to Devils Peak several years back because there was no room for her on the boat. Finding a compatible hiking group to go with is rather rare, so I felt I had to take her. Besides, I needed to spend some personal time with Asaka, so that I can view her as my wife rather than my baby mama. After the trip, my parents reassured us that Leif did not mind one bit that we were gone for that half day. As the trip grew nearer, I realized that our reservation was on Easter Sunday! This caught me off guard, but everyone else, including the captain, seemed not to mind. My parents were flexible enough, realizing that spending a whole day with their only grandson would be the best way to spend their East Sunday anyways.

We woke up in our hotel, dropped the baby with the parents, then began our short drive to Santa Barbara Harbor. My car notified me of a wind advisory for the local area. This concerned me but the weather outside was fine. We met our group prior to 7am at the dock. Shortly after we met our captain Martín, looking like your stereotypical chill dude. Unshaven and unbothered, he wore a beanie, sweat shirt and sweatpants. He didn’t look like he was dressed to get wet, which was a good sign. He claimed to cross the channel to Santa Cruz Island over 100 times a year, which surprised me. I didn’t realized such a crossing was so popular. At any rate, this gave me confidence that we would have smooth sailing ahead. The boat was smaller than I expected, having taken a giant ferry on my previous trips to the Channel Islands. A made sure to make a “3 hour tour” Gilligan’s Island joke before we set off. Martín was polite enough to laugh, even though he probably hears that same joke on a weekly basis. Josef and Michael, Austrian buddies, sat together on the back, while the couples sat in the middle on opposite sides.

The islands looked close but this was deceptive as the ride took about an hour and a half. I was initially jealous of Josef and Michael for having the most comfortable seats on the boat until they both got completely drenched. I saw several misty spouts in the distance, which could have been from a whale or an orca. There were a couple of times where Asaka and/or Beer went flying. I was sure to hang onto her tight after the first airborne incident, and no one fell out of the boat, although Michael, who was completely drenched, might as well have. It felt like a long time to reach the island cliffs where Martín switched the dinghy into a lower gear. We cruised along until we reached Ladys Harbor, which contained a beautiful rocky beach.

The sea lions curiously watched us while swimming along the rocks.

Martín blew up a kayak which he used to transport us to shore two at a time.

We had to balance very carefully once on the transport vessel. Getting wet was inevitable, but we stayed dry above our knees. Once at shore, we dried out our feet and waited for the others to complete the transfer. Asaka took delight in the various sea shells.

Martín would hang out on the boat while we did our short hike. We expected to be gone only a few hours. After leaving the rocky beach, we entered a thicket. Thankfully there was no poison oak, but there were several sections of our route that required some bushwhacking. We aimed left (East) towards the ridgeline above. I took my place in the rear with Asaka, content to let the others break trail. My only fear was rockfall, but luckily nothing came down that day. Once through the worst of it, we emerged on a steep hillside which we followed to the top of the ridge.

-Alta 2 Benchmark

Once atop the ridge, the route was pretty straightforward as we could see all that lay ahead of us. Sure there would be some minor ups and downs, but nothing that I considered difficult.

-Dudleya succulent

It was a social occasion. I took turns chatting up each individual. I was excited for Asaka to meet Beer, since they had a similar background, coming to America from Asia to marry mountain men.

-Moonset

Though less impressive, the reddish rock reminded me of the volcanic conglomerate found in Pinnacles National Park. Over 15 million years ago, lava flows covered much of the area that now comprises the northern Channel Islands. The the rock formations at Pinnacles started in Lancaster, California, just north of the Transverse Range in the Neenach Volcanic Field, so maybe there’s some kind of distant connection.

-Lupine

-Beavertail Cactus

Rather than stay atop the ridge, we sidehilled down to a patch of shady oaks.

We took our first break in the shade. I sorted through the various Japanese snacks that Asaka’s mom shipped from Japan. The summit was near but we had no reason to rush. Sometimes you need to learn to enjoy the hikes.

After our break we climbed up the grassy hill to our right and followed a parallel ridge towards Devils Peak. The summit structure was now visible from our vantage point.

We climbed a steep, grassy hill underneath some more oaks then emerged on top of the final rocky ridge.

We reached the summit several minutes later. We all did our best to stay in the shade on that warm day. I ate my dry sandwich, wishing I had some more mayo to go along with it. I wondered how they serviced the tower, since I didn’t see a road leading up to the structure.

To the east was El Montañon, the high point of Channel Islands National Park.

To the north were the Santa Ynez Mountains and the Santa Barbara Channel.

To the west were Santa Rosa Island and Alta 2 Benchmark

To the southwest were Sierra Blanca and the endless Pacific Ocean.

To the southeast ran the fault line that divides Santa Cruz Island.

Asaka didn’t want to wait on the summit for too long since she was worried about the baby, so we took a final photo and began our hike back down.

Asaka ran off ahead of the group while I organized some final things.

Much to her nature, Asaka quickly got lost. She wasn’t on the descent route, so I had to run off to find her. She had continued along the ridge past our turnoff point. I hollered down to her and waited for her to climb back up, disappointed and embarrassed as usual. Now that we were back on track, we pretty much followed the exact same way back down to the boat. I was relieved to see Martín's boat was still there.

Much care was taken on the final section. It was steep and I didn’t want to kick down any rocks. We then trashed our way over the last section, just barely missing our ascent route too far to the left. It took us 4.5 hours to do our little hike. This included two very long rests and a gentle pace.

Once at the beach, Martín began to fill his kayak. I jumped in the super cold water to cool off. Perhaps that was a bad idea because I would end up being too cold over the next hour and a half.

Once in the boat, we began our ride back, and that’s where the fun began. Martín informed us that a small craft advisory had been issued for the area. These particular words didn’t mean much to me, but his tone and body language were more effective at conveying our situation. He then said that it was going to get pretty gnarly, which was an easier statement for me to understand.

Things were smooth coming out of the cove, but it wasn’t long until we reached open water and things started to get dicey. Martín recommended for us to sit on the deck as opposed to the seats. The water was very choppy and the swells would take us up high peaks and down to low valleys. A couple times the waves even broke over our boat and soaked everybody. First Josef got got completely soaked, and then Asaka. It was like someone dropped a bucket on each of them. It was scary and funny at the same time. Martín lost his sunglasses and his sweatpants got soaked. After 30 minutes of some crazy maneuvering, the swells began to relent slightly, and things got progressively smoother as we neared shore. I was relieved to pull into the sunny harbor. After Martín docked, I asked him if that was typical. He stated that was the roughest crossing he’s ever experienced. He has owned his current boat for 7 years, which means with a conservative estimate, he's done at least 700 out and backs. I don’t know if we were unlucky to have experienced such wild conditions, or conversely lucky just to have survived. It will be a good story to tell for years to come. We all got our sea legs that day. We met up with my parents and the baby later that afternoon, and I went crabbing with my cousin. We didn't yield any results, but I got to stare out at the island for a couple more hours. Now I need to take a more leisurely tourist trip out to Channel Islands National Park.

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j0sgomez-blog · 5 years

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Michael,

Here’s a question I’ve struggled with. Because of the timing of my trips, I often end up hiking and backpacking solo. I enjoy that (and enjoy groups). However, as a result, I’ve had a number of bear and moose encounters that have left me a little uncomfortable, and with a feeling of powerlessness in those situations. I’ve read about bear encounters and technically know what to do (making noise, etc.), but I’ve sometimes exhausted all those tricks and found myself still staring at a bear in my path. What do you recommend I do—especially about hiking solo?

It’s made me more conservative recently—in particular, I had made plans to hike the Teton Crest Trail in September, had the permit, etc., but ended up dayhiking instead (Cascade Canyon, Paintbrush Canyon). Those dayhikes were awesome and it was probably the smarter decision, as there ended up being storms up on the crest. But, truth be told, I really made that decision to dayhike instead of backpack largely because I feel like I can do everything I’m technically supposed to with regard to bear encounters and still feel powerless when I’ve exhausted all my tools and tricks.

I hate that feeling (and I’ve had it a few times) where I’ve done everything I’m “supposed” to do and it comes down the bear’s choice. He’s still staring at me and eventually—fortunately for me—each time, the bear has made the choice to amble off in another direction.

Thoughts?

Dave Ann Arbor, MI

A sow grizzly in Glacier National Park.

Hi Dave,

Many people can appreciate those sentiments, including me. I’ve taken many solo trips, and had many bear encounters solo and with companions, some of them up close. A friend and I had one encounter in Glacier National Park with a grizzly sow with two cubs at a distance of about 30 feet, and it’s very unnerving. (The sow and cubs barely even looked in our direction; they weren’t interested.)

More recently, on a 94-mile backpacking trip through Glacier in September 2018, another friend and I had to wait out a griz that was grazing very close to the trail ahead of us—too close to the trail to consider hiking past the bear. We blew air horns but that had no impact on this bruin. We watched it from about 200 yards away across a meadow for nearly an hour before we finally decided to bushwhack a wide arc around that section of trail, making noise all the way, which worked—but we lost at least an hour of hiking time.

The chances of a violent encounter are extremely low, but the consequences are high, of course, and you never know.

I’ve had numerous encounters with black bears where I threw rocks to chase them off (they were always going for my food, not me). That would be a dangerous response to grizzly bears. Moose can be dangerous, especially during the fall rutting season, but every encounter I’ve had with one has been non-confrontational, even though maybe one or two were fairly close range.

You can find other sources for tips on how to hike safely in bear country, and the definitive text on that is the book Bear Attacks: Their Causes and Avoidance, by Stephen Herrero.

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Moose in Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.

Your question is about deciding whether or when to backpack solo in bear country, so I’ll tell you how I approach that question.

I think specifically about the place and the likelihood of a bear or moose encounter while hiking solo. For instance, I’ve seen moose in the Tetons at least three times, always at an adequate distance to not antagonize them; but I don’t recall ever even seeing a bear there, despite nearly 20 trips in the Tetons backcountry (including some remote, off-trail areas). I suspect that’s because of the park’s management of backpackers and food in camping zones, and the regular hiker and backpacker traffic keeping bears away from trails.

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Given all that, and the regular human traffic in the Tetons in summer (it does taper off in September), and the fact that much of the terrain—especially along the Teton Crest Trail—is in meadows or above treeline, with long sight lines, I consider the Tetons a relatively safe park for someone with the right skills to backpack solo.

However, I wouldn’t recommend solo backpacking in, for example, Glacier, where there’s a high concentration of black and grizzly bears and moose, or in many parks in Alaska. Maybe not in the Olympic Mountains, either, because of a high concentration of black bears and dense forest increasing the likelihood of a surprise, close encounter. (I shot the lead photo of a black bear at the top of this story in the Olympic Mountains; it was just off the trail we were backpacking down, and showed no aggression toward us, but we moved along quickly.)

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A brown bear in Glacier Bay National Park, Alaska.

As for specific, solo-hiking strategies, here are mine.

• Planning months ahead certainly helps you avoid having to hike solo. While I’ve done it many times, I rarely backpack solo these days, mostly because I plan my trips months in advance and that helps in finding friends and family who can join me. (I prefer having companions, and I tend to miss my family more when I’m out solo, which makes it less enjoyable for me.)

• When in grizzly country, I always carry this pepper spray. (Tip: Practice pulling the plastic locking clip off it, because it’ll be very hard to think straight when you see a bear charging.)

• I carry an air horn. (Small bells are practically useless—their noise doesn’t travel very far.) I have a couple of Falcon Personal Safety Horns (so I can give one to a companion, too). They’re small, weigh just a few ounces, easy to clip to a shoulder strap or belt, and very loud. (Don’t point one at someone and blast it, or fire it off near your face, it’s painfully loud.)

While pepper spray is only effective when a bear is within about 15 to 20 feet, an air horn can frighten off a bear at a distance, or just let it know you’re there. I’ll occasionally give my air horn a blast when walking through dense forest or brush in bear country, when I can’t see far. While my anecdote (above) from a griz encounter in Glacier illustrates that horns are not always effective at hazing a bear to leave an area, I’ve read about them working well, and it’s such a loud and unnatural noise that I believe it would work sometimes.

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A black bear in the northern Bailey Range, Olympic Mountains.

• Hiking in daylight, and not too early in the morning or after sunset, makes you safer because most animals are more active between dusk and dawn. Safe food storage in camp also makes you safer, and I might feel more inclined to carry a bear canister, even if it’s not required, when I’m solo. (See my favorite canister in my review of essential backpacking accessories.)

• Be aware of whether you’re hiking into the wind or downwind—when moving downwind, animals will detect your scent from a greater distance, whereas upwind, they are less likely to smell or hear you at a distance. Also, be conscious of ambient noise levels: A loud river nearby could drown out your noise, while quiet surroundings enable animals to hear you from a greater distance—and occasionally, for you to hear them.

• Whether solo or with companions, give your itinerary to someone reliable, along with the phone number of the park ranger station or local authorities, and tell them to report you missing if they haven’t heard from you within a day after you expected to finish your trip. With a PLB, you significantly reduce the rescue-response time if you do have an emergency.

• You could carry a personal locator beacon (PLB), like a Spot GPS Messenger, that would allow you to signal for a rescue. The Spot also enables you to send a nightly message to someone back home to let that person know you’re fine.

• Whether solo or with companions, ask park rangers about the location and details of any recent bear activity, because that can tell you a lot about where it’s relatively safe and unsafe to hike at any particular time.

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That’s about all you can do short of carrying a large gun—which isn’t permitted in some places, and it’s heavy. Plus, a handgun is not going to stop a bear or moose; the rifles used to kill them are high caliber and one bullet often isn’t enough. And imagine trying to aim and fire a rifle at a bear at close range, charging at 30 mph.

I strongly suspect that pepper spray would be much more effective at close range: The spray disperses widely and virtually always turns a bear away, whereas you may shoot and miss with a gun, or just enrage the bear more if you hit it without really injuring it. From a distance, a gunshot may dissuade a bear, but I’ll choose the pepper spray and air horn over a gun.

To my last bullet point above, my brother-in-law, Tom Beach, who worked as a backcountry ranger in Yellowstone for about 10 years, offered these thoughts on this question, and I think his general advice applies to many places with grizzly or brown bears:

“I would backpack solo in most of Yellowstone (and was almost always solo when I was a backcountry ranger on foot), but there is about 10 to 15 percent of the park where I would never go solo due to the grizzly bear concentration (and these areas change from month to month depending on the bears’ main food sources). The challenge is that the Park Service will give you a permit to hike solo just about anywhere, and so you have to have a lot of experience/local knowledge to know better. People should be sure to ask questions about recent bear activity or sightings in the area where they are planning to go, when they pick up their permit.”

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My suggestions do not completely eliminate risk of a hostile animal encounter, of course. But statistically, you are far more likely to be injured in a fall when hiking, whether solo or with companions, than to have an animal encounter. When solo, I think much more about being careful to avoid that kind of accident.

In general, though, most animals—including another you didn’t mention, mountain lions—detect people long before we are aware of them, and we probably usually fail to ever know how many animals are nearby. I remember, several years ago, after dayhiking with my family when my kids were quite young to Grinnell Glacier in Glacier National Park—a busy trail with a constant stream of dayhikers—I ran into someone at the campground at Many Glacier who said he was in a boat on the lake below the trail around the same time we were hiking it. He said he could see something like a dozen bears grazing peacefully very near the trail, but hidden by vegetation from the hikers passing close by, and the bears just seemed oblivious to the people.

I offer other insights about backpacking solo in my blog post “Ask Me: Should I Go Backpacking Solo?”

Good luck, keep in touch.

Best, Michael

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.

Got questions about hiking, backpacking, planning a family adventure, or any trip I’ve written about at The Big Outside? Email me at [email protected]. I’ll answer your questions to help ensure your trip is a success. See my Ask Me page for details.

—Michael Lanza

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olivereliott · 4 years

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A High Route Across The Wind River Range

[NOTE: 2020 is the tenth year of my blog at Semi-Rad.com, and since I started it, I’ve been fortunate to get to do some pretty wonderful adventures. Throughout this year, I’ll be writing about 12 favorite adventures I’ve had since I started writing about the outdoors, one per month. This is the eighth in the series. The other stories are here.]

In the pre-dawn hours before the first day of our trip, I stared at the ceiling of the van above the mattress as I tried to get back to sleep—“trying to sleep,” of course, to an insomniac, meaning “tried to think of everything that we should have packed for a 6- to 8-day backpacking trip, even though it was way too late to purchase or acquire anything at that point.”

Parked near the Green River Lakes trailhead at the northern end of Wyoming’s Wind River Range, I had at least three worries about problems that could come up for Hilary and me over the next week, some that would become apparent very gradually over the course of several days, and some quite instantaneously:

I wasn’t sure we had enough food. It was a challenge to cram seven days’ worth of food into a bear canister, and we’d ended up with a little over 2,000 calories per person per day—plenty for a week of sitting at a desk typing emails, but a little light for a week of carrying a 40-pound backpack for 80 miles.

We didn’t bring mosquito nets. DEET, yes, a whole 1.25 ounces, but no mosquito nets. A few days earlier, our friend Jaeger had said, a little skeptically, “So you’re going to the Winds and you’re not taking bug nets?” Since the Winds are pretty famous for swarms of bloodthirsty mosquitoes, I had thought about it, but then rationalized that it was maybe a dry-ish year and maybe … they wouldn’t … be … that bad? Jaeger was not convinced. And neither was I.

We hadn’t brought bear spray. I knew I had a canister of it somewhere, and then a few days before we left on the trip, I couldn’t for the life of me find it. But we’d be above treeline for most of our trip, so was it really necessary? It was almost a pound of extra weight.

A few hours later, we locked the van, shouldered our oppressively heavy packs, and walked to the trailhead kiosk to start walking south. And there, next to the sign-in box, was a can of bear spray. I shrugged and stuck it in the side pocket of my pack. Seemed like a sign.

It rained on and of all day the first day, as we traversed the eastern shore of the two Green River Lakes, Squaretop Mountain towering above and dominating the view. It was a nice easy grade for most of the day, and although we’d started a little later than I’d hoped, it was a relief to finally be done planning and actually walking. We had agreed to write about the trip, and take photos, and review some gear we’d been sent, so almost everything in our packs was new and unfamiliar. Which was fine, except for the backpack itself: Mine seemed to be rubbing my hips rather abrasively. I chalked it up to being “out of shape” for backpacking, having not carried a big pack at all since the previous year.

I’d been to the Winds only once, four years prior, but I’d spent a chunk of time clicking around the internet looking at photos of the range: 100 miles of high, sweeping granite peaks hemming in hundreds—no shit, HUNDREDS— of alpine lakes. Twenty of the 21 highest mountains in Wyoming are in the Winds, all except for the Grand Teton, just a couple hours’ drive north. If you like big stands of dense trees, you could do better elsewhere, but if you love staring at glacier-sculpted granite towers, the Winds are a paradise.

In my internet puttering a few months prior, I had googled the phrase “Wind River High Route.” I had researched and walked the original “high route,” Switzerland’s Haute Route, in 2013, and had loved reading the story of how early mountaineers linked mountain passes and cols between Chamonix and Zermatt over several trips. I thought, wouldn’t it be fun to try to do that in the United States, somewhere it hadn’t been done?

Google revealed it had, in fact, been done: Two guys named Alan Dixon and Don Wilson had put together a “Wind River High Route” in 2013, and Alan had detailed it on his website, AdventureAlan.com, with the route description, maps, photos, and detailed gear lists, right down to how many squares of toilet paper they’d packed. I was disappointed at first—it wouldn’t be a pioneering trip. And then I was 50 percent disappointed, and 50 percent excited that I wouldn’t have to figure out the route myself. And then, 100 percent excited. Even if someone had been there before, I knew it would still be challenging: 70 to 80 miles, more than half of those miles off-trail, 14,000 to 20,000 feet of elevation gain, and more than 50 miles of walking above 10,000 feet. It might be nice to have the beta on where to go.

Adventure Alan’s website, as it turned out, got some decent traffic. Our first day, we ran into two younger guys who said they were doing the High Route. The next day, we met a horsepacker who was meeting a threesome who were hiking after finishing what he called “the bushwhack route,” as well as a guy turning around after a day and a half into the High Route because the talus was a bit much for his labradoodle’s paw pads. I asked, “Did you find out about it on that guy’s website?” He laughed. “Everybody finds out about it on that guy’s website,” he said.

A handful of people stretched out over an 80-mile route was not that many—it was certainly not a crowd like you’d find on Angels Landing in Zion, or on the fixed lines on Mt. Everest during a good weather window. Some days, we saw a dozen or so people. Other days, we’d see no one for more than 24 hours.

Our second day, we woke up a little soggy in our last-ditch campsite in the woods, where we’d camped after realizing we wouldn’t make it to the first alpine lake before dark. We got moving, and climbed up and over Cube Rock Pass, the first of nine passes we’d cross on the trip. By noon, we were picking our way up the rocky slopes on the west side of Knapsack Col, which topped out at just over 12,000 feet. The route was there, if a bit faint in spots, and the afternoon sun warmed the air so we were starting to drip sweat under our heavy packs by the top of the big climb. At the top, the view opened up over the other side: the steep west face of Mt. Helen and its northwest couloir, still packed with snow in early August, and the peaks of the east side of Titcomb Basin to the south of Mt. Helen. On the other side of the col, we’d descend over a short snowfield and then slabs and talus next to the Twins Glacier, the grade more gentle than the side we’d climbed up.

This would become our daily pattern: Look up at a daunting pass, grind up it wishing our packs were a bit lighter, be rewarded with a brand-new, amazing view of the other side, and figure out a way to get down. Adventure Alan had documented the route and confirmed it went, but the hourly daily navigation still took some time, looking at maps and the Gaia GPS app on my phone to figure the best way up and down drainages, across tundra and talus, and through the high passes—and sometimes through waist-high and chest-high willows. For most of where we went, there were no trails, and no footprints.

But the experience of rolling over a high pass (or two) each day, punching through to a new zone, new mountains, new lakes, is something Hilary and I would talk about years later. Some passes would drop us into areas where we wouldn’t see another human the entire day, and some would lead to more popular spots where we’d see a dozen people. But mostly, it felt like we had the place to ourselves, and all we had to do to earn those great views was carry our big backpacks for a few miles every day—slowly. Some days we barely managed to walk 10 miles (one day we only clocked 7.3 miles), and the primarily off-trail walking required patience. We had chosen the easiest version of the High Route, but we still felt like we were earning it.

By Day 3, my backpack had rubbed my hip bones raw, and I finally took two strips of duct tape and taped over the bleeding spots. Which helped a little. But every minute I had my pack on my back, I was in pain. No bears, so far, and the mosquitoes had been minimal. The food, however, as I expected, was not quite enough. We were definitely going to lose a few pounds, but have just enough food for six and a half days. But if it took us eight days to get to the Big Sandy Trailhead on the south end, it would get pretty dire. I rationed my 9-ounce bag of Annie’s Pizza Snacks Mix, watching the pieces crumble, convinced that the last day, I would be pouring bottom-of-the-bag pizza-flavored powder down my throat. At least there was plenty of water here.

By the morning of Day 5, we had chugged through 42 miles and over five passes, already convinced that the Winds were one of the most beautiful places either of us had ever been. We’d camped the night before on a small saddle above Long Lake at about 10,800 feet and watched some clouds filling in, with faint flashes of distant lightning illuminating the tent fly as we went to sleep. We didn’t know anything about our route on Day 5 except that if we were able to climb two passes, both higher than 11,000 feet, we’d be in pretty good shape to finish the route with just enough food.

We hiked fast in the morning, traversing the slopes above a half-dozen different alpine lakes before joining the trail around Middle Fork Lake, which we gratefully followed until it disappeared and we were left to choose our own adventure through willows and up talus toward the 11,380-foot unnamed pass to the south, where we may or may not get trapped in a thunderstorm. We methodically picked our way up the slope as the sun went in and out of clouds, and a few hundred feet below the pass, Hilary had gotten a little ahead of me and I had one of those “I wonder what’s over there?” moments and started to trend right. I popped out to a view of the steep spires of Pronghorn Peak shooting straight up for over a thousand feet, from a deep blue-green lake I’d never heard anything about. Hilary came back down, took a rest for a few minutes, and the sun came out and lit the whole scene up for about 10 minutes so I could take a few photos before the clouds filled back in.

We trucked on, heading up the pass with a bit more urgency as thunder started to rumble, just close enough to motivate you to hustle down the other side of the pass. And we did, stopping at Lake Bonneville for a quick lunch during a brief 5-minute rain shower, before we started back uphill to hopefully crest our last pass of the day before the sun set. It was easy going to the pass between Raid Peak and Bonneville Peak, but the other side of the pass was big chunks of rock, and hard to find a line down that didn’t involve hands-and-feet scrambling over refrigerator-sized blocks. It was slow going, and as we descended, I started to realize we needed to trend north, sort of out of our way, to avoid a steep slope of talus. At 7:30 p.m., we found a spot near a small unnamed tarn, and called it a day after 12 hours as the sun dropped behind the dramatic face of Ambush Peak.

On Day 6, we crossed Texas Pass, our second-to-last of the trip, on firm snow. Trying to capture the famous Cirque of the Towers on the other side, I bobbled and dropped the lens cap of our camera in a bergschrund, perhaps never to be seen again, the only trace we’d leave of our trip. Most climbers come into the Cirque from Jackass Pass on the opposite side, where we’d be departing the next day. The Cirque, famous for its alpine climbing, has two of the Fifty Classic Climbs of North America, as well as a bunch of other classic routes. I was content to just look up at the peaks and spires this time, relieved that we’d probably make it to our car without starving to death after all.

We hadn’t seen a bear, which was just fine by me as well. But at our last campsite, south of Lonesome Lake, looking west at the Cirque, we’d seen three moose grazing in the woods, between us and a few other groups of campers. My friend Kurt once told me he’d rather run into a grizzly bear than a moose, because he’d accidentally spooked a moose once while doing some field geology work and it almost ran him over. Moose, apparently, can run 35 mph for up to 400 meters, which is way faster than any human has ever run 400 meters. And they weigh 600 to 1,300 pounds, so if they hit you, it’d be like getting hit by a motorcycle going 35 mph. A motorcycle with antlers. And no one makes moose spray.

I didn’t think this when I was cleaning up our stove and pots just before crawling into the tent to go to sleep that last night, until I heard some rumbling on the ground not too far away. I looked up, and in a couple seconds in the dim dusk light, realized the moose were running straight toward our tent. Hilary was inside rolling out her sleeping bag, and the moose were speeding our way. I had maybe one second to say something, and a choice: Do I yell to Hilary? In that second, I decided there was nothing she could do and nothing I could do, and I just hoped moose had good enough vision to see and avoid running into a four-foot-tall, six-foot-wide, bright orange object with my girlfriend inside of it. And also maybe not run me over.

They did. A few seconds after they passed, Hilary asked from inside the tent, “Was that the …”

“The moose,” I said. “Whoa.”

The next morning, we woke up early to watch the sunrise light up the Cirque of the Towers, drank our last coffee, and hiked up to our last pass, Jackass Pass, to start heading down to the Big Sandy Trailhead. My hips were trashed from the backpack, I knew, but I wasn’t going to remove the days-old duct tape protecting them until I could take a shower. As we got closer to the trailhead, we started to see more and more people, then dozens of cars. At the trailhead kiosk, I stopped for a second to sign our names and note that we had finished the Wind River High Route. Then I pulled the can of bear spray we had borrowed from the Green River Lakes Trailhead, our starting point 76 miles and six and a half days away, and placed it on the kiosk, where someone else could grab it for their trip. And hopefully not have to use it.

Note: We did “a Wind River High Route,” not “the Wind River High Route”— although many people have traversed the Wind River Range over the years, there’s still not a consensus on the “best” route. Andrew Skurka has put in a lot of effort in developing a high-quality version of it, and has lots of info and history on his website]

—Brendan

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thejustinmarshall · 4 years

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A High Route Across The Wind River Range

They did. A few seconds after they passed, Hilary asked from inside the tent, “Was that the …”

“The moose,” I said. “Whoa.”

—Brendan

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