#patches of snow start appearing on the road the further out of town we get

[possiblytracker]

ermine

[some-dr-writings]

Nagito comforts a depressed Reader

·       In all honesty, it was a rather lovely day. Winter was showing signs of ending, not quite cool or warm. A breeze gently rolled past, lightly rustling the leaves. There were scarcely any clouds in that endlessly deep blue sky.

·       A lovely day…

·       And yet…

·       You strolled along the path with no particular destination, just like your life. Just moving because you were born, no other reason. No ambition. No pride. No dreams. And yet you were called ‘super high school level’, ‘ultimate’… what the hell did those mean anyway? Did you have a path now? Just follow wherever your talent led? Was that your only choice now? Well, you already screwed that up so probably not. Sighing, you continued to walk along, getting absorbed in the blue sea that hung above you.

·       Walking along the road you listened to the tapping of your and others’ foot falls against the stone sidewalk. Your head was just empty. Anything absorbed your attention, consuming everything. It felt like you were underwater. You were aware of your surroundings, but it was all blurry, not able to fully comprehend what was around you unless you bothered to reach out, but even then there was something in the way, whether it be the water or yourself.

·       Suddenly you and someone else crashed into one another. “A-ah, I’m so sorry!” You managed to squeak that out seeing the other person had fallen to the ground.

·       Great, you screwed up, again.

·       Like always.

·       Your vision blurred, tears percolating in the corners of your eyes. Before the stranger could say anything, you dashed away. Leaving him to watch as your silhouette faded into the distant crowd. “Huh? What’s this?”

·       Damn it. This was so dumb. You shouldn’t be crying over this! It was just a little accident… You tried taking deep breaths to ease yourself but it all just kept welling up. Everything. All the stresses, all the fear, all the confusion and sadness. You couldn’t stop or hold back any of it anymore. Even as your breathing hitched, wiping the continuous tears away, you kept walking.

·       Then you heard something. A bird? A seagull. And… waves. Following the sounds, you found yourself leaving the quiet streets for the seaside. The beach seemed to stretch for miles while the ocean was endless, the horizon being nonexistent, the sea and sky appearing to be one and the same. The wind was much more powerful than before carrying that salty scent wherever it went. The shore and town were on separate elevations, only when you had found a small staircase and descended did you see there was a small area of grass separating the sand and the stone settlement of the town. It all appeared so grey or at least muted in color. Perhaps it was because of the patches of snow that sill sat on the grass, refusing to melt even under the sun’s rays. There was not a soul around, just you.

·       Not wanting to deal with the aftermath of sand getting stuck in your shoes you took them off, walking barefoot along the shoreline, the foaming water lapping at your feet. It was freezing. Then you sat, hugging your knees to your chest, the waves occasionally reaching your toes.

·       You never realized just how noisy the beach was even when no one was around.

·       …

·       It even sounds like it’s screaming sometimes…

·       Screaming that kept getting louder with each second…

·       Okay, what was-

·       The noise came to a stop when a boy suddenly appeared beside you. From the marks behind him it seemed he slid face first against the sand! “A-are you okay, sir?” “I’m fine, just some bad luck.” You tried helping him up, gently pulling him by his arm. “Um, you sure? You look… hurt.” He was absolutely banged up, covered in scratches and bruises. His clothes were covered in sand, lightly tattered, absolutely disheveled. There were even leaves and some trash in his hair. “Really, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” Then it seemed he noticed something. “Are you okay though?” “Huh!? U-uh…” “Probably not, you started crying when we bumped into each other earlier.” “You’re the same guy!?” You never took a good look at the person, but what you vaguely remember was similar to this guy, most notably the white hair. “I’m so sorry!” “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I don’t mind. You seem to be having a rough day.” “I… I…” Your voice quieted and waivered. “I guess you could say that.” You couldn’t stop the tears forming in your eyes, you turned back to the nonexistent horizon wanting to pretend you were trying to hide it.

·       And you just let yourself indulge in it. That oppressive sadness and pain that constantly crushed you under it’s unbearable weight. “Want to talk about it?” Why was he still here? “I’m just a nobody, the best I can do is hope to be useful, a steppingstone for others.” You buried your face into your knees. You just…

·       Other than sheer laziness, you didn’t see why not.

·       “Do you see it? The horizon?” He looked, even squinting his eyes. “No.” “It all looks like one giant ocean that’s endlessly surrounding us. When you first step into the ocean, it seems nice, but the further in you go the more you realize just how endless it is, not just on the surface though. It just sinks. Deeper and deeper, darker and darker it gets, till you can’t see any light at all. And the more water there is above you, the more pressure there is. With so much pressure, it can be impossible to even open your eyes, to try to do anything anymore. By the time you even begin to wonder which why is up or down, you can’t do anything anymore, and you just keep sinking. Sinking where, you don’t know, you can’t even tell if somehow you were starting to float upwards. And you just keep going and going. When you want to try, it’s impossible to anymore. No matter h-how much you fight, you can’t stop it. You can’t move. You have no control, at all.” Though he didn’t say anything, the unlucky boy thought of your words, taking them in, finding their sentiment, your situation, all too familiar.

·       Then you started laughing. It was a pitiful, quiet laugh, sounding like a cut-up cry. “T-that… has been my entire life… and… heh, know what the worst part is?” You honestly couldn’t care what this stranger thought anymore. Even that was too much of a pain, you were just… exhausted. You looked to him, letting him see your tear stained cheeks, puffy eyes, your red face and pained expression. “I purposely sink myself. I do it over and over and over again. It’s comfortable, being in misery. I’ve been in it for so long, I don’t know anything else. Any chance I get at happiness, I destroy it. I’m scared. I don’t want to be like this anymore but before I can even think to stop myself, it’s too late, I’ve already destroyed the opportunity beyond repair and I tie another stone around my neck to sink deeper. I don’t want this, but I can’t stop myself. J-just like this time… this time i… i…” You couldn’t even keep your head up. You just… slumped over. “I received the opportunity of a lifetime on a silver platter and I just ruined it. Without a second thought! It could change my life, I could gain some semblance of control, but I just…”

·       You couldn’t even speak anymore.

·       You couldn��t do anything.

·       You just kept sinking, like always.

·       “You’ll be okay.” “huh?” “You’ll be okay. Even now I see it. The hope blooming inside you! It’s so brilliant and bright! Even though this is the lowest you’ve sunk, and you handicap yourself, you’re still fighting for hope! And even if you sink further, that hope inside you will not break. When you get past this, you’ll be unstoppable! The deeper the despair you face now, the greater your hope will be when you overcome it!” “… what? you don’t even know me. you don’t know that. i don’t need you to lie to me.” “I’m not lying. And you know it.” Amongst the crashing waves and the call of seagulls, you heard a new sound. A light crinkling? You slightly tilted your face as to see what it was from the corner of your eye. “… how did you get that.” “I found it on the ground when we bumped into each other earlier.” You shut your eyes and nuzzled into the little warmth you still held. “The letter is only partially burnt. You stopped yourself.” “… I’m just going to burn it later.” “… No, you won’t. Look at your hands.” You didn’t move… Ever so gently, he lifted up one of your hands. “You stopped yourself this time, it’s already blooming, you’re already trying to change.” Sighing, you glanced at it for but a moment. “It’s just my hand.” “You’re burned.” “… I’m physically self-destructive as well as emotionally and mentally, so what?” “You grabbed the letter as it was burning, even though you would get hurt… You wanted to save it. You may want to wallow in despair, but the hope inside you has grown so much, you can’t repress it anymore. You’re scared to change, but your want for change will soon outweigh the fear.” He slipped the letter into your hand. “But… by the time you gain the courage to take the leap, to try to swim to the surface, it might be too late. I don’t know what this opportunity is, but… it’s clear you want it. You should go for it… but this is coming from a nobody, so I guess my opinion doesn’t really matter.” You felt a small, deep chuckle rumble deep in his chest. “great, another way to screw over myself.” “Another challenge you’ll overcome.” “or not.” “You will.” “you don’t know that.” “I do.” “that’s impossible.” “It’s not.” “i don’t believe you.” “You don’t have too.” “… well you… i… but… I don’t know how to respond to that.”

·       You sighed, realizing you were defeated. You held up the letter, taking a better look. Seeing the ash, you recalled how you so fervently grabbed it off the newly lit log in the fireplace… “I don’t believe you, not a word you say. But… I… might want to believe. Maybe? I don’t know.” You hugged that comforting warmth, not wanting to think of this. Just letting yourself get lost in the moment. The sounds of the waves. The cool wind rushing past. The soft sand and the warmth you felt in the unlucky guy’s voice, his words, what you were holding so tightly and the feeling growing in your chest.

·       Wait…

·       It was then you realized it.

·       When you helped the guy get up, you never let go of his arm… and eventually you started hugging it… And you were leaning your head on his shoulder, even nuzzling into him during your entire conversation… You were even still holding hands…

·       You threw yourself back, a new warmth spreading across your entire face. “I-I, I. I’M SO SORRY! I DIDN’T REALIZE I WAS TOUCHING YOU! WAIT, NO THAT SOUNDS BAD, I WASN’T-I DIDN’T MEAN- I’M SO SORRY!” You ran away as quickly as you could. This was so freaking embarrassing! What were you doing!? In your panic you didn’t notice how when you ran off you were running on sand… Sand which was kicked up and crashed into the poor, unlucky boy. “Huh… was meeting them the good luck that evened out the bad from earlier?”

·       You were so embarrassed you ran all the way home. Once there it sunk in what you had done. And you felt so ashamed for leaving him behind like that.

·       You dwelled on that encounter. For a long time you did. Eventually you reached a conclusion. Taking a deep breath, you accepted the offer. You needed to make a change. Now.

·       Not even two months later and there you were, standing at the entrance of Hope’s Peak. You were actually here. You were going to do this. You trembled, feeling your heart booming in your ears and against your ribcage. This was it. A new chapter in your life that you made happen. A chapter you had control over.

·       Then you heard a crashing sound, seeing something fall out of a tree. You raced up to it, hearing groaning. “I wonder what this bad luck streak is leading up too? It’s been two months now.” “It’s you!” “Huh? Oh.” You were here. “I’m so sorry about just leaving you at the beach! Here, please let me help you up, and I won’t hug your arm this time, I swear. Heh, hehe, heh… I just kinda like hugs and touches and stuff. Wait! Don’t take it the wrong way! That sounded weird, didn’t it? Sorry!” He smiled, instantly knowing that this moment, you reaching your hand out to help him to his feet, chatting away as you walked to class together, being in the exact same class. This was what all that bad luck was leading up too. Meeting you again.

[metawatts]

When I’m With You, I’m at Home- a Freezerburn Thesis

Table of Contents

Introduction

Tell Me Can A Heart Be Turned to Stone?

Any Remarkable Heart Has Gone Through the Hardship and Shame

Goldilocks and Snow White- The Freezerburn Dynamic

Snowflakes, Sunlight, and Songs- Symbolism Surrounding the Ship

Counterarguments and Refutations

Conclusion

Let’s get this show on the road. 

1. Introduction

RWBY has had multiple attempts at diversity throughout the years, from the good, to the bad, and an entire spectrum in-between. Some of this involves LGBT+ couples, which are a favoured ship in the RWBY fandom. The most popular of these wlw ships are generally involving pairs between the main four girls, Ruby, Weiss, Blake, and Yang. In this thesis, I am going to discuss the characters of Weiss and Yang, the storytelling and development of their relationship, and why this ship is top-notch.

2. Tell Me Can A Heart Be Turned to Stone?

Weiss Schnee, first appearing in the White Trailer on February 13th, 2013, is the second character who appears in RWBY canon. In her trailer, Weiss’s main theme song, Mirror Mirror, characterises her as a lonely individual who fears that she has become so closed off from the world that she’ll never be able to make any connections or open up to others again.

Heiress of the Schnee Dust Company, Weiss is characterised as a prim, proper, snobby brat when we meet her in volume 1, her haughtiness getting her into spats with her teammate and partner Ruby, and eventually causing friction within the group when her racist and discriminatory attitudes collide with the rest of her team. While we don’t get a proper resolution in the form of actual apologies for her actions, this part of her characterisation is quickly dropped throughout the rest of the show and Weiss later becomes the main person to stand up to racist actions in the cast.

Weiss, from volume 2 onwards, is characterised as a defrosting Ice Queen, cold, proud, and thorny to everyone, but slowly warming up to her team. She proves herself to be loyal, brave, and compassionate to her teammates over the course of the rest of the show, consistently offering support and kindness where she can. She fits rather well as a support fighter within the group, consistently buffing her teammates with her semblance, and using her elemental dust for combat effect. She has consistently been a caring, supportive individual to her allies, despite her overarching motif of ‘loneliness’.

3. Any Remarkable Heart Has Gone Through the Hardship and Shame

Yang Xiao Long, first appearing in the Yellow Trailer on June 2nd, 2013, is the final member of the protagonist team to appear. Her debut song, I Burn, is all about her love of fighting, and her supreme self-confidence in her skills. What is interesting about the trailer version of I Burn is that it carries through the other songs from the rest of her team, depending on what stage of her battle she’s fighting.

The older sister to main character Ruby Rose, Yang doesn’t get much characterisation in volume 1 aside from being generally nice, supportive of her sister, and hints to some staggering anger issues and impulsive behaviour. This personality is in place throughout volume 2, where she gets more information given on her backstory and begins to show the flaws in her character, specifically how her abandonment issues from Raven drive her, her aimlessness of purpose scares her, and how her reckless temper puts her in more danger then she can handle.

Volume 3 puts Yang through a physical and emotional wringer, starting with being framed for attacking Mercury and ending with her desolate in her bed, having lost her right arm to Adam. The rest of the show attempts to tackle her storylines of depression, PTSD, disability in the form of amputations and prosthetics, the neglect and abandonment from her deadbeat mother, trauma surrounding Blake and Adam, and her anger issues. Despite it all, the core spark of Yang’s warmth is still available for her teammates, with her welcoming each of them with open arms when she reunites with them.

4. Goldilocks and Snow White- The Freezerburn Dynamic

Weiss and Yang have the healthiest friendship of the four main girls in team RWBY. They have excellent synergy when they work together, as implied first with their team move in Painting The Town, further fuelled with the two of them planning the Beacon Dance and having it go without a hitch, and confirmed when they go into the Vytal Doubles Round together. Weiss and Yang have complete trust in the other during combat, consistently protecting each other in a way no one else in team RWBY does. A good example of this is Weiss willingly throwing herself into a lava spout to protect Yang from an attack from Flynt. Even outside of fights they are always pushing the other to be their best. Eg. Yang confronting Weiss on her attitude towards Blake in volume 1 and Weiss supporting Yang throughout volume 5

While they don’t get as many scenes as some of the other bonds in the show, their rock-steady faith in each other is especially prominent after Yang kneecaps Mercury, with Weiss immediately declaring with full confidence ‘Yang would never do that’ and ‘Yang would never lie to us’ when Blake doubts Yang in the same scene. Yang, meanwhile, shows an incredible amount of emotional maturity after the Fall of Beacon when she recognises that Weiss did not choose to leave her side, having been forced to return to Atlas by Jacques.

When they reunite in the Branwen camp, they once again immediately have each other’s backs, with Weiss’s knight acting as a guard for their backs while they face off against Raven. Yang, despite her conflicted feelings towards Raven, instantly shows anger and horror at the fact that Raven kidnapped Weiss, showing how her bond with Weiss is much dearer to her. Weiss, once the danger has passed, throws her sword away without a shred of hesitation and bodily flings herself into Yang’s arms, hugging her close while proclaiming ‘I missed you so much’. Yang returns the hug, but not before looking stunned at Weiss’s actions, and returning the sentiment with ‘I missed you too’. In one of the more beautiful bits of animation in the show, Weiss’s knight fades out of existence behind them.

Throughout the talk with Raven, Weiss and Yang’s main roles are relegated to asking questions to allow for more exposition, but Weiss stands up for Yang quite a lot against Raven, specifically calling her obnoxious when Raven tries to start on a delaying tactic. Weiss also grounds Yang when Yang’s temper threatens to get the better of her, taking Yang’s hand and calming her down when Raven insults Taiyang to get a rise out of Yang. The two ride off on Bumblebee together, and when Yang reunites with Ruby, she shows no hesitation in inviting Weiss into the hug as well.

In Alone Together, we get Weiss and Yang talking in a scene where Weiss allows Yang to vent out a lot of her frustrations about Blake and her abandonment from family before she opens up about some of her own homelife, in an attempt at empathy about them both having experience with extreme loneliness. Weiss states ‘I don’t know loneliness like you do. I have my own kind’ and finishes the scene with ‘I’m here for you too’ to Yang, offering a measure of support that Yang has not been offered by anyone since she left Patch.

While Yang and Weiss don’t have much time together during the Haven fight, they are generally aware of each other, particularly when the other is in trouble. Yang’s expression when Weiss is impaled is horrified, meanwhile when Blake is standing in front of the rest of the team, Weiss’s eyes are on Yang to wait and see what Yang wants to do. It is only when Yang chooses to agree with Ruby that Weiss offers the hug to Blake, since she is aware of just how much Blake hurt Yang.

It is this trust and support that makes up the backbone of Freezerburn’s dynamic as a ship, with the two of them near-eternally supportive while also being willing to push the other to do better for themselves. Both with their own experiences of loneliness and with trauma, they also have never pushed their pain onto the other and have instead showed mutual communication, understanding, and warmth to each other.

5. Snowflakes, Sunlight, and Songs- Symbolism Surrounding the Ship

Freezerburn has a lot of good symbolism that is a shipper’s playground for the pair. From their first noticeable team-up being bookended with rainbows, to the very classic hot and cold dynamic that is very popular in a lot of important bonds in media. Yang saturates herself with fire imagery, to the point that it is the main tell of her semblance, and a recurring motif in most of her music. Weiss has the exact same saturation of her snow and ice motif, with her glyphs being snowflake-patterned. This provides a nice contrast both in and out of show for the two characters when it comes to their imagery.

Another, more subtle, piece of symbolism that threads through volumes 4, and 5, is Weiss’s knight being narratively tied to Yang. While one could make the argument that this started in volume 3, with Weiss first manifesting the Knight’s right arm in Heroes and Monsters, the same episode where Yang lost her own arm, that ties Yang’s traumatic experience into shipping fuel, which is a bad take and should not be done. Trauma is not romantic and holding up a disability and the event that caused it as the shining example of True Love is not a good argument for a ship.

Instead, we can talk about how Weiss first summoned her Knight in Two Steps Forward, Two Steps Back, where Yang also takes her ‘step forward’ so to speak, listening to her father’s advice for their next spar, and how tying the two events as the ‘Steps Forward’ also comes into play when they first reunite in Lighting the Fire. Throughout the beginning of volume 5, Weiss has been using her knight as her comfort, and it is only when she is hugging Yang that she allows her knight to disappear. While this symbolism is a thin thread, it is still worth mentioning as a connection that exists.

Speaking of the songs, Weiss and Yang between them have the most singular character songs in the RWBY soundtrack, each of them stringing together to tell stories. For Weiss, her songs start, retroactively, with Path to Isolation, flowing into Mirror Mirror, Mirror Mirror Part II, It’s my Turn, and finally ending with the masterpiece This Life Is Mine, where she lyrically discards the mirror motif that has been with her from the start. Yang, meanwhile, starts with I Burn, quickly followed by Gold to show her softer side, with her number of songs diminishing over the events of volumes 2 and 3, before it kicks back into force with the triumphant Armed and Ready, the anger-fuelled Ignite, and ending on the heartbroken All That Matters, where Yang ruminates on how much Blake has hurt her, and will likely hurt her again in the future.

These two ‘song stories’, so to speak, are both currently at a pause until we get any further Weiss and Yang solo songs, but considering how we left with Weiss on a high note in her character development, finally freeing herself from her father’s abuse and ready to take her life for herself, and Yang at a low point where she requires the support of someone who has not hurt her the way Blake did, it is an interesting contrast . I would also like to talk about the significance of Home playing over the Freezerburn reunion, as Home upholds the same values of endless support and safety that is a running theme throughout Freezerburn as a ship. Specifically, the lines ‘I had you through it all’ and ‘A haven of safety where I’ll dry your tears’ are very emblematic.

6. Counterarguments and Refutations

Now, the main argument that seems to exist against Freezerburn as a ship is, well, Bumbleby. Now, I don’t mean to attack Bumbleby, I am not trying to start a ship war, but I would like to point out that Bumbleby, currently as it is written from volume 4 onwards, is based around trauma bonding and lacks any of the trust or open communication that Freezerburn has. An example of this is the talk in the truck in volume 7 doesn’t have Blake and Yang discussing anything of importance and instead features them dancing around their issues until Yang goes along with what Blake wants. Another example is the main Bumbleby fight scene in volume 6, where Blake spends most of it offscreen climbing a wall, letting Yang take the brunt of the fighting, and doesn’t make any moves to truly protect Yang from her ex.

I would also like to state that Bumbleby, going into volume 8 this weekend, is not canon yet, and should not be taken as canon. If RWBY can confirm relationships with things like ‘this is my wife, Terra Cotta’, or with kiss scenes, then it can do the same for Bumbleby. And should Freezerburn become canon instead, then it is a good milestone for LGBT+ representation in media, as Freezerburn is also a wlw ship, and would not devalue the show’s attempts at inclusivity.

7. Conclusion

To finish things up, Freezerburn is a great ship. This ship is an overall positive development for Weiss and Yang, character-wise, as it brings out their best qualities rather then their worst qualities. Freezerburn has a healthy amount of trust, respect, and communication, never feeling like the other ‘owes’ them anything, and they are endlessly supportive in a variety of ways. It’s good, what else is there to say?

[aurorapillar]

Title: i swear that i loved you

Fandom: The Mechanisms

Characters: Jonny d’Ville, Billy Vangelis, One-Eyed Jack, Doctor Carmilla, The Aurora

Summary:   Small moments in Jonny's life with the people who could be considered his family

Jonathan Vangelis flinched at the sound of the front door slamming open echoed through the house, his heart speeding up as he listened to his father’s footsteps coming down the hall. He knew the man had been at One Eyed Jack’s casino again, and from the apparent anger in his steps it was doubtful he’d had a winning hand. 

Jonathan felt anger rising in his throat at the very thought of the money his father had probably lost. He was the  one having to repay the man’s debts by working for Jack, and yet he kept on racking them up. He could be remorseful about it at times, sometimes on the rare occasions when Billy Vangelis was actually sober, he’d tearfully apologize for being a terrible father and putting such a burden on his son’s shoulders. Whether there was any truth in those words though, Jonathan didn’t know; despite his apparent regret, his father never tried to stop gambling.

It was possible, of course, that his father didn’t know exactly what kind of work Jack had him doing; but Jonathan doubted it. No matter how drunk the man frequently was, it would be hard to miss the stains on his clothes or the way he’d desperately scrub at his hands in an attempt to get the blood out from under his nails. 

“Boy! Why is there no food?” His father’s slurred shout as he stomped into the room was loud enough that the neighbors probably heard it, and Jonathan quickly jumped to his feet and scrambled backwards so that their old ratty couch was between him and the man. There was little way to predicate how volatile his father would act each time he got home, and he wanted to make sure he had a head start on escaping if he needed to. 

“There’s no money for it.” He informed his father, slowly inching his way further backwards, he was ready to bolt the moment a hand was so much as raised. “You keep gambling it all away.” 

A furious expression arose on Billy Vangelis’s face and Jonathan began reaching behind his back for the door handle, ready to run out into the night any second. 

“What’s the point of you working for Jack if you’re not bringing home any money?” He demanded and Jonathan could do nothing but stare at him in shock. 

“My work,” He began, speaking slowly and enunciating each word, “Is paying off your debts to him, there is no extra money coming in. Perhaps if you would stop wasting your time betting away everything we own, there would be.”  He regretted the words as soon they left his mouth, saw his father begin to step forward and quickly ripped the door behind him open and dashed out of it. 

The night was pitch black, but the dark road he ran along was one he’d travelled plenty of times before on previous nights. He wasn’t really sure where he was going, sometimes he had to just stay outside for hours until his father had gone to bed, while other times one of the neighbors would spot him and let him crash on their porch with a blanket. 

He both hated and was grateful for those times, it was nice to be able to just go to sleep and not have to stay up waiting, but it was hard having to hear the sounds of a happy family from within the house. It was something he knew he’d never have.

xxxxxxx

“Jonny, my boy!” A bright grin split One Eyed Jack’s face as Jonny walked in through the casino’s back door, his expression tired and blood staining his clothes. “Another job well done!” 

A pained grunt was the only response Jonny could give him, as he pressed a hand to his side in an attempt to stop himself from bleeding out. One of the benefits of him being Jack’s go to hitman was that very few people expected someone his age to be the one sent to kill them, most of the time even if they knew someone would be coming for them, they were caught off guard. That hadn’t been the case today though, he didn’t know if people had finally caught on to what he was doing for Jack, or if the guy had just been paranoid, but they’d managed to get a hit on him before he could shoot them. 

Honestly if it wasn’t for how good of a shot Jonny was, he was sure he would have been hurt worse, but he still wasn’t particularly happy with what had happened. His side hurt horribly and he felt woozy from blood loss, he really wasn’t sure how he would make it home, getting to the casino had been hard enough. 

“Jonny!” Jack calling out his name shook the boy from his daze, and he was surprised to find the casino owner suddenly standing right in front of him. “Let me see it son.”  If it wasn’t such a ridiculous notion Jonny would have almost thought his boss was worried based off of his tone, as he pulled him over to a couch and pried his hand off the wound. 

Jonny involuntarily let out a hiss as Jack carefully poked at the wound before gritting his teeth together in an attempt to keep anymore sound from escaping, he didn’t want to show any weakness if he could help it. Jack seemed to find his actions amusing and let out a snort, as he finished examining the injury. 

"It'll need to be cleaned and wrapped, but you'll live." The man stood and walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a glass and a bottle of what Jonny knew to be very strong alcohol.  Pouring some into a glass, he walked back over to Jonny and offered it to him. “Not going to be pleasant, best if you’re a bit out of it.”

Jonny hesitated a moment, before grabbing the glass and drinking it in one go. The alcohol burned his throat as it went down and he couldn’t help but grimace, he’d never really understood the appeal of drinking. Jack laughed at his expression and reached out a hand to ruffle his hair, an action that left Jonny uncertain how he felt. 

He didn’t like Jack, hated the jobs the man had him do and the way he felt like he couldn’t say no to them, but there were occasional moments of kindness that made him feel confused. A plate of food shoved in front of him along with a comment that he was too skinny, a bit of cash surreptitiously slipped in his hand at the end of a job, or help patching up a wound like today. 

He didn’t get it, didn’t know the reasons for Jack’s actions, but sometimes he wondered if that’s what a father should actually be like.

xxxxxxx

“Woah!” Jonny d’Ville’s eyes widened in wonder as he took in the snowy planet in front of him; his home planet had been hot and dry, he didn’t know if it was possible for it to snow there, but if it was it had certainly never happened during his life.  They visited planets in the past where it did snow, however they’d never been lucky enough to get there during the right season; their current planet however was one eternally stuck in winter. 

Jonny was practically vibrating with excitement as he waited for Carmilla to be ready to leave the ship; they were only staying for a day, just long enough for the doctor to pick up some things and to refuel, so every second counted. 

“Jonny.” He turned as Carmilla called his name and promptly found himself hit in the face by a warm coat. “It’s freezing out there, bundle up” 

“What’s the worst that could happen? I die of frostbite?” It wasn’t like it would stick, he’d just end up reviving after a little while and be fine.  Still despite his scornful words he pulled on the coat and buttoned it up, “Can we go already?”

Carmilla gave an amused smirk at Jonny’s ill disguised excitement and opened the ship's door,  “Now remember, we’re only staying for one day, so don’t wander off too far. If you’re not back by sunset, I’ll leave without you.” 

It didn’t feel like much of a threat to Jonny; she really would do it, he knew that, but he also knew that she’d eventually come back for him. Really all it would do was give him more time to enjoy the snow, and maybe cause a little havoc, so there wasn’t really any downside. Still, Carmilla seemed to be waiting for a reply and so he nodded in agreement. 

He wasn’t really sure whether she believed him or not, but she moved out of the doorway and left the ship, with him following close behind. His first steps out into the snow found him sinking up to his knees, and he heard Carmilla laugh at the expression of surprise on his face, he had been expecting it to be a bit more solid. 

“Keep up Jonny.” The doctor told him, making her way through the snow with an ease that annoyed Jonny. In the distance he could see the blurry looking city that they were headed for, though he wasn’t really sure whether the lack of clarity in its appearance was due to how far away it was or because of his own eyesight issues. Ever since the incident that had resulted in Carmilla mechanizing him, his eyesight had lost a lot of its sharpness. He couldn’t say for certain the cause of it, the events that had occurred were rather fuzzy; but Carmilla had said when he went down he’d hit his head hard, and he remembered an old man from his old planet had lost his sight after being beaten half to death with a pipe. 

It had been several decades since then and there had been no improvement, so he was fairly certain nothing was ever going to change; at least not unless Carmilla did something, but while it was very possible she knew something was up by the way his skills at aiming had decreased, she hadn't said anything and he hadn’t told her.  It scared him too much to imagine what she might do to try  and fix it, there were enough painful things she put him through on a regular, and even if she said they were for his own good it didn’t mean he wanted more of it. 

“I believe I told you to keep up.” The small hint of annoyance in her voice sent a shiver down Jonny’s spine and he immediately quickened his steps. 

“Sorry.” He muttered, somehow managing to struggle through the deep snow to reach her side. “Got distracted.” For a moment she just stared at him, before letting out a sigh, 

“Just try and stay focused until we get to town please. You can go off on your own then and do whatever you like, but for now I’d like to hurry along and get out of the cold.” Now that Carmilla had mentioned the cold, Jonny realized just how bad it was, even with the coat he’d been given didn’t completely block it out. The worst part was the effect it seemed to be having on the location where the metal of his mechanism met the skin of the rest of his chest, it seemed to burn as if there was heat surrounding them instead of the cold. Absently he rubbed at it with the butt of his palm and the movement caught Carmilla’s keen eyes.

“Is your mechanism having trouble?” She demanded more than questioned, and Jonny winced. 

“Just kinda cold.” He muttered, hoping she wouldn’t feel the need to do anything about it, it hadn’t even been a week since the last time she’d performed maintenance and he really didn’t feel like being cut open again so soon.  The doctor pursed her lips and gave him a calculating look, before saying words Jonny really didn’t want to hear. 

“I’ll have to look into some kind of cold resistant covering, I suppose.” She didn’t say anything more after that and they continued to walk in silence, the city growing nearer and nearer. It seemed it had mostly been Jonny’s eyesight making it seem blurry and it wasn’t actually that far away. 

As they entered through the gate, Jonny’s attention was immediately drawn by a nearby shop from which the lovely smell of baked goods was drifting. As she caught sight of the direction his gaze was looking, Carmilla rolled her eyes and shoved him gently in that direction. 

“Go on, just make sure���”

“To be back by sunset, I know.” Jonny interrupted, bouncing slightly on his heels in excitement. Carmilla didn’t look exactly pleased at having been interrupted, but she seemed willing to let it go. 

“One more thing, if you’re planning on causing trouble…” She paused for a moment, looking at him with a stern expression. “Don’t get caught.” 

Jonny grinned.

“Got it.”

xxxxxxx

Jonny’s heart was racing as he ran through the halls of the ship, he didn’t know where he was headed, but he knew he had to hide. He’d shot Carmilla!  

He’d never tried to fight back before, not with anything but words, because she’d told him the things she did was for his own good and he’d wanted to believe her. That was most likely the only reason he’d actually managed to kill her, because she hadn’t been expecting it in the least. To be fair though, he hadn’t been expecting it either, he’d just wanted the pain to stop and had reacted instinctively. He didn’t know whether that would do anything to dull the anger Carmilla would likely feel once she revived though, so his only concern was to find someone to hide until she’d cooled down. 

Of course, that was easier said than done; Carmilla had been shot in the middle of working on him, and he knew he was leaving a trail of blood behind him that would lead her straight to him. There was no time to kill himself in order to heal though, not when the doctor would revive long before him. 

Things were made worse by the fact that he really didn’t have any idea where he was going, they’d only had the Aurora for a very short while and for all that Carmilla seemed to have already figured out where everything was, he had not. If he took a wrong turn then for all he knew he could end up right back in front of the lab. 

“C’mon….” He muttered to himself, as he turned a corner and ran down another unfamiliar hallway. “Think of something Jonny.”

As if in response to his plea, a vent over head fell open, offering him a new path. For a moment Jonny hesitated, he knew the ship was alive so this had to be her doing, which meant it could very possibly be a trap; maybe she was trying to lead him right back to Carmilla. It wasn’t like his current prospects were doing him any good though, and it would be nice to have a way to travel without leaving an obvious blood trail. It would be fairly obvious where he’d entered though, so just to be safe he traveled a few more hallways ahead, before backtracking to the open vent and climbing up into it. 

It was somewhat of a surprise how roomy the vents were, and while he certainly wasn’t complaining, he couldn’t help but wonder about the reason behind that design choice. As he crawled further though them, a trail of blood which would certainly be a surprise to anyone who ever decided to clean the vents left behind, he found himself becoming more and more nervous; he still had no idea where he was going and nowhere to run if anything were to happen. 

He’d just decided to drop out of the next vent he’d come across, when what he’d thought was just part of the side paneling fell open, revealing a passage behind it. For a moment he froze, before letting out a small laugh. 

“You really are helping me, aren’t you?” He addressed the ship, feeling almost giddy over the fact that he had someone on his side.  He’d been worried the ship had something against him, after all according to Carmilla the Aurora could talk, and yet so far she’d never said a word to him. 

The Aurora seemed to hum slightly in confirmation to his comment, and he grinned as he slipped through the hole and dropped down into a new room. A quick glance around informed him that it seemed to be a store room of some sort, one of the ones they hadn’t yet gotten around to sorting through yet. He didn’t know what the boxes held, thought he supposed he’d have plenty of time to find out, but the important thing was they’d provide a good hiding spot. Sitting down in the shadow of on of the larger boxes, he leaned his head against the wall and listened to the vibration of the engines through them. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hide forever, eventually Carmilla would find him and he’d be punished; but for the moment, with the soft hum of the Aurora around him, he felt safe.

[foreveralwaysanauthor]

Christmas Eve Miracle

Christmas Season Prompts Day 7

December 14th – Snowed In ☃️

Pairing – Mack and Brady

(I’m sorry I’m late! I had no time yesterday or today to write this out and had to make do on short time, but I hope everything pans out alright. Mack’s behavior is based on my sister, Honey, who is gonna kill me for even saying she inspired something I wrote, but I’m tired and don’t give a flying fladoodle what she says rn)

I believe we shall start this story the same way many of these begin.

It was a dark and stormy night. Well, really, it was only 6:43, but given the sun had already set, it was pretty dark. Snow fell from the sky in thick flakes, floating up over the windshield of Brady’s rental car, a 2017 Rogue. Mack and Brady were on their way through the town of Tilton, New Hampshire to Mack’s Uncle’s house on the edge of Lake Winnisquam in Sanbornton. A week prior, the couple had left their home in San Clemente, California, boarded a plane in Santa Ana, landed in the Manchester-Boston Regional Airport and were staying in a hotel in Concord.

The GPS told them that the ride from the hotel to Mack’s Uncle’s house would only be about a half hour, but the GPS hadn’t accounted for black ice, thick snow, and a very pregnant and very irritable Mack who was a week away from her due date of December 31st and didn’t feel like going out in the snow. Mack had been excited to visit with her relatives, but, as it was a very snowy Christmas Eve, she found herself not wanting to leave the safety of the hotel room.

The idea of Brady driving on snowy roads was torture on Mack. At least she knew how to handle slippery, icy roads. The only knowledge Brady had of handling wet roads was when it rained in California, he had no prior experience on roads splotched with sheets of black ice, a substance nearly invisible to the human eye.

As Mack took another deep breath to calm herself, Brady glanced at her in concern. “Are you alright, honey?”

Mack nodded, leaning her head against the cool window. “I just want to get to the house party and get it over with. We shouldn’t have left the hotel with the roads this bad.”

“Well, if it means anything, the GPS says we’re only about six minutes away,” Brady claimed, watching a car go by. They were in, what Brady assumed, the center of Tilton, but he couldn’t be sure due to how few people dared to go out in the middle of the storm.

“The GPS doesn’t count for me telling you to slow down because of ice.” Hearing that, Brady eased his foot back onto the brake pedal, watching his speedometer go from twenty-five to almost fifteen. “Thank you,” Mack mumbled from the passenger seat.

“Of course,” Brady said softly, turning on the Mozart CD they had brought with them. Mack had insisted on bringing it as not only did it calm her and the baby down, she had read that classical music was great for babies and small children to listen to as it would aid in their mental growth. Once the music started, Mack relaxed into her seat and closed her eyes, trying to keep calm while Brady drove. Brady would glance occasionally at Mack just to make sure she was doing alright, but after a while, he remained focused on the road, the timer on the GPS showing them getting closer by the minute.

“Brady,” Mack said softly, sitting up as best she could, “pull over.”

Brady watched his wife with concern as he kept going down the road. “Why? Are you alright?”

“Just pull over!” Mack insisted, one hand on her stomach and the other on the handle of the door.

Without another thought, Brady threw the blinker on and pulled to the side of the road, a streetlight and a road sign for a nearby lodge being the only things allowing light into the vehicle. As the car was parked, Mack had unbuckled her seatbelt, opened her door and stepped out, leaning her top half into the car and lightly touching where she had been sitting.

“Mack, what’s wrong?” Brady asked, unbuckling himself and preparing to jump out of the car.

Mack’s expression was enough to trigger a reaction in Brady, but her words caused him to start acting. “I think my water broke.”

Brady reached for his phone, his immediate reaction being to call the hospital, but Mack stopped him. “Brady, we can reach the hospital just fine, I don’t need an ambulance. Just let me get back in and we’ll go. We’ve got this.”

Brady seemed to relax a small bit as Mack’s calm attitude seemed to radiate into him as well. “Okay. Okay. We can do this.”

Mack slid herself into the car once more and shut the door. Brady re-buckled himself and shifted the car back into Drive. As he pushed the gas pedal, however, both of them realized he had stopped the car on a patch of ice. They wouldn’t be going anywhere unless Brady tried to get out and push, but even that might not help unless Mack could get behind the wheel to steer the car, which she couldn’t as her bump prevented her from sitting at the wheel.

Brady huffed in agitation before pulling his phone out once more, dialing Mack’s Uncle’s number. “Hey,” Brady said as Mack’s Uncle answered. “I know the party started already, but Mack and I are still in Tilton. I think we’re stopped by a digital marketing place, but I’m not sure. The sign’s covered in snow... Well, we’re stuck on ice and her water just broke.” A moment of silence passed before Brady screeched anxiously into the phone, “YES, the baby’s coming! What else could that mean?!”

Mack yanked the phone from Brady’s hands and talked with her uncle for a minute. “We’re going to try to find a hotel or something to stay in because I am not giving birth in some rental car in the cold when I could at least have a couch or something… Yeah, take your time. Keep the party going before you come out; I don’t want to ruin the night for you guys. I’ll probably still be in labor. Just call Brady when you get here, okay?... If anything happens, we’ll call... Love you too, bye.”

Brady climbed out of the car after Mack handed him his phone back, telling Mack to stay there and he would go find somewhere for them to stay. Mack watched as he ran off into the cold, disappearing into the white haze that consumed the area. She turned the key backwards until it clicked off into radio only mode so the car wouldn’t lose any gas just sitting there, turning the CD back on and turning it up so she could try to relax. Minutes passed and the song changed more than once before Brady appeared, helping her out of the car and over to a nearby campground that had agreed to let them stay in one of the cabins.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two and a half hours went by. Anxiety was high. Crying and worried comments had come from mostly Brady by that point, but Mack still hadn’t given birth and the relatives they had called, still hadn’t showed up. Thankfully, one of the people who owned the campground, was also a mother of five and could easily handle Mack giving birth. The woman was able to help Mack with all necessary things, except for the one thing almost every mother needed: epidural.

By the time the fifth hour rolled around, Mack had begun pushing. Brady had been told by Mack to stay in the living room so he could see if their relatives had shown up yet, but all he could see was snow and the occasional headlight from those brave few that dared to go out. Snow had mounted up and, from what Brady could see, it was maybe up to eight inches, collectively.

Mack’s screams of pain echoed through the small cabin, making Brady flinch. He hated hearing her in pain, but she had told him to leave the room as his anxiety was making her more and more angry at him. He had seen the look in her eyes and had feared for his life, so he chose to listen to her and wait in the other room. The power had gone out about twenty minutes ago as the radio told them a big rig had jackknifed and taken out a few power lines just a little bit further down than where Mack and Brady had left the car.

A few minutes later, Mack’s screams were replaced by a small voice crying and Brady had dropped everything he’d been holding onto the couch and dashed for the bedroom, seeing the owner woman place the little one into a towel and rest it on Mack’s chest.

She looked up at the two of them as Brady sat behind Mack and looked over her and their new baby. “Congratulations, darlings. She’s beautiful.”

“She?” the parents echoed.

The woman glanced at them before realization dawned on her face. “You didn’t know the gender, did you?”

“No,” Mack whispered, her voice sounding scratchy and hoarse. “We wanted to be surprised.”

Brady smiled as the baby girl gurgled in her little towel. “I told you it was going to be my princess.”

Mack smiled dazedly up at Brady before watching her little girl again. “You did. Well, king of the castle, what are you naming our princess?”

Brady’s smile broadened as he spoke, “I know we already said Kaya would be her middle name if our baby was a girl, but for the first name, I like the idea of mixing our parents names. So, Makaela is your mom and Luana is mine so… how about Makana?”

“Makana…” Mack said softly as she took in the fact that she had brought this wonderful little human into their lives. “Makana Kaya Birch. I like that.”

[rowdy-revenant]

Grand Theft Bobo

Part six of The Thing About Being You

[<< part 5] [WEarp masterlist] [part 7 >>]

Pairing: hollirey (Bobo Del Rey/Doc Holliday)

Warnings: Car accident, injuries

Characters in this chapter: Bobo Del Rey, Doc Holliday, Wynonna Earp

Words: 1300+

[Read it on AO3]

A/N: Forgot the tag list! Sorry!

The realization dawned on Bobo. Doc’s body was human. Humans could leave Purgatory. Doc had a car. The car... Keys? Bobo felt around in Doc’s pocket and pulled them out. “Come to papa.”

“Bobo?” Doc raised an eyebrow at the man. “What… are you doing?”

“I’m afraid I can’t stay any longer.” Bobo smiled. “It’s been a pleasure- well not really, it’s been a nightmare.”

Doc and Wynonna put two and two together, figuring out what Bobo was planning on doing. “You said you wanted to be better!” Wynonna growled. She lunged towards him, grabbing for the keys.

Bobo stepped back and started backing up towards Doc’s car. “I was a fool to think I could change.” He turned and ran towards the red sedan, Doc and Wynonna close on his tail.

Wynonna raised Peacemaker. “What the hell, Wynonna? Don’t shoot me!” Doc yelled.

“It’s not you, it’s Bobo!”

“Yet it’s still my body!” Doc argued. “Shoot the tire!”

The moments of arguing had given Bobo enough time to unlock the car, get in, and slam the door.

“Not enough time.” Wynonna said. She ran over to her bike and mounted it. “Get on.”

Doc blinked. “O- okay.” He stammered. He sat behind Wynonna, carefully wrapping his arms around her. “Couldn’t possibly be too different than riding a horse…”

It was very different than riding a horse. Doc squeezed Wynonna tighter as the two took off down the road after Bobo.

A wild grin spread across Bobo��s face as he pressed on the gas. This was his chance. He could leave it all behind and finally be free from the Earp curse. He could leave Purgatory and Doc would be stuck with the bill.

As the car passed over Purgatory’s border, Bobo instinctively flinched. He waited for the burning but it never hit. It worked. Laughing wildly, he sped up.

“This is wrong.” A voice in Bobo’s mind whispered. “You can’t do this. They trusted you.”

“And that was their fault.” Bobo told himself. Still, his conscience pressed him. The guilt grew stronger as he got further and further away.

“What would Wyatt do?”

“Wyatt’s dead.”

Doc and Wynonna sped after him but stopped abruptly at the line. “He’s getting away!” Wynonna shouted.

“Thank you, Wynonna, I CAN SEE THAT!” Doc yelled back, getting off the motorbike and staring at the car. Bobo had betrayed them and he was getting away with Doc’s body. Holliday cursed himself for being so stupid, for thinking Bobo could actually change, for trusting the demon.

The rage built up inside Doc until he couldn’t hold it in. A strange feeling in his gut  turned into energy coursing through his body. His back began to itch as he raised his right hand. His eyes- Bobo’s old eyes- changed to a glowing red as an invisible force shot out of his fingers.

Time seemed to slow down as the red car was flipped over. Too little too late, Doc realized what he had done. It sailed through the air for a good few seconds before landing upside down on the road, roof caving in. The windows shattered, glass spraying across the asphalt like an untimely snow. Three thoughts went through Doc’s mind.

The third was “I liked that car.”

The second was “That’s my body.”

The first was “That’s Bobo.”

Traitor or not, Doc couldn’t just leave him there. Bobo was mortal now, he could die. Ignoring Wynonna’s shouts, Doc ran towards the car.

The pain hit him like an oncoming train, the agony spreading through every part of his body. Doc had seen firsthand what happened to a revenant outside the border. His skin began to smoke as he burned alive. Still, he pressed on.

Like Doc, the car was also starting to smoke. Its wheels spun idly in the air.

Doc held his hand out again, praying that he could do this again. Slowly, the driver’s side door peeled itself open. Bobo’s eyes were closed. Doc’s black hat had fallen from Bobo’s head, revealing blood dripping from a gash on his forehead.

Wynonna was behind Doc now but her voice sounded like there was a wall between them. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the pain, or possibly a good mix of the two.

Doc fumbled to undo Bobo’s seatbelt, cursing the stupid contraption as he tried once, twice, three times to get Bobo loose. When it finally worked, Doc caught Bobo and pulled him from the wreck. One of Bobo’s arm’s was slung around Doc’s shoulder and Wynonna took the other, pulling the unconscious man back into town.

As soon as they crossed over, Doc collapsed. His skin was red, peeling and smouldering. His breath was quick, but slowing down as the pain faded away. He turned his head to look at Bobo. “Idiot…” Holliday muttered.

Then the world went dark.

Bobo woke up in a panic. Where was he? What was going on? What year was it?!

When he sat up, a pang of pain emanating from his head. Long strands of brown hair fell across his eyes as Bobo was once again reminded that this wasn’t his body. He was in Doc’s apartment, in the gunslinger’s bed.

Bobo’s body- the one containing Doc- was sitting in a chair next to him. He looked horrible. His skin was red and peeling. Blisters and burns covered his face, though they appeared to be healing quickly.

“You’re up.” Doc said in a hoarse voice.

“Guess so.” Bobo shrugged. “What happened?”

“What happened is you’re an asshole and almost the both of us killed,” Doc told him. “You drove off.”

“That I remember...” Bobo mumbled.

“Why?”

“None of your-” Bobo stopped and sighed. Doc’s voice wasn’t its usual patronising tone. He was curious, maybe even hurt. “I drove off because I could. I’m human now and I saw the chance to leave.”

Doc nodded. “I would have done the same in your shoes.”

Bobo snorted. “You are in my shoes.”

Holliday laughed a little, though it was clear it hurt.

“What happened after that?” Bobo asked.

“I got angry.” Doc replied. “I could barely control it, but I believe used your magical magnet powers to try and stop you. Ended up flipping the car.”

“You FLIPPED the CAR?!” Bobo managed to get out. “Wh- wow. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“I also tore the door off.” Doc added, a hint of pride in his voice.

The smile on Bobo’s lips faded. “Why are you burnt?”

“Oh. Uh…” Doc scratched the back of his head. “I ran over the line.”

“You know that hurts you, idiot.”

“I ain’t no idiot, of course I know!”

“Then why’d you do it, idiot?!”

“Because-!” Doc seemed at a loss for words for once. He ran through excuses in his mind before giving up and telling the truth. “Because I hurt you and I couldn’t let you die.”

Bobo’s eyebrows furrowed. That didn’t make sense. Why would Doc try to save him, especially after the stunt he pulled? “Because… if I died we wouldn’t be able to swap back… right?”

“No?” Doc muttered. “Yes? I truly do not know. I just couldn’t let you die.”

“Oh.”

“Mm hmm.”

They sat in silence for a while, neither knowing exactly what to say.

“Where’s your hat?” Bobo asked. He felt the top of his head, wincing when he touched a patch of gauze that had been taped over a cut.

Doc gently guided Bobo’s hand away from the wound. “It fell off my- your head when the car flipped. Then the damn vehicle exploded.”

“Fuck,” Bobo said. “You lost your hat. And your car.”

“I can get new ones. Some things can be replaced,” Doc shrugged. “Others cannot.”

Bobo looked to the ground then said something that neither would have expected. “I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I said I’m sorry,” Bobo repeated. “I thought I could change. Instead I just got us into this mess. I picked up the mirror like an idiot and got us swapped then I ran like a coward and got us hurt.”

“Change takes effort. Change takes time,” Doc told Bobo. “And sometimes change takes others giving you a chance.”

“Will you give me one?”

“Perhaps it’s about time I did.”

Murdoc’s tag list - let me know if you want to be added/removed

TTABY: @intricatecakes​ @tuntematonkorppi​ @thoughtfulcollectormaker

[thehikingviking]

Mt Silliman from Lodgepole Visitor Center, Sequoia National Park

Colin had a free weekend so he was keen on getting a trip together. He was most interested in Mt Silliman which lies in Sequoia National Park. I had hoped to save this peak for when I was in a pinch and needed an easy SPS peak, however I decided that Colin’s company was too good to pass up. Mike Toffey also agreed to join us, which gave us an opportunity to have a nice little reunion post Kandlbinder Peak outing. Inspired by Sean King and Chris Henry’s snow climb a month earlier, we hoped to challenge ourselves with some spring conditions. We watched the daily satellite and observed the snow receding at a very fast rate. We decided to bring our crampons and ice axes with us, and we planned to make the call on what to carry after seeing the conditions first hand at the trailhead. I offered to drive, so on a Friday afternoon, I picked up both Colin and Mike from San Jose then drove across the valley to the SEKI northern park entrance. We found a section of national forest land where we slept. Colin and Mike set up tents above the road, while I slept in the car parked near a closed gate. I was disturbed at 2am with high beams penetrating my car. There were two PG&E trucks and they were fiddling with the gate so that they could tend to some issue further up the forest road. I was not blocking the gate, but I was in their high beam’s line of fire. It took them a remarkably long time to open such a simple gate, and needless to say I was pretty upset. I caught a couple more hours of sleep after they finally passed through, but I didn’t quite get the well needed good night’s rest that I had hoped for. The next morning we piled back into my car and drove the remaining 18 miles down General’s Highway to the Lodgepole Visitor Center. Colin threw up on the drive; was it car or altitude sickness? I could have parked closer to the Lodgepole Campground, but it was my first time in the area and simply parked in the first lot after turning off the freeway. This folly added about a half mile of extra pavement walking each way, but we were in high spirits and expected a moderate day to begin with. We left the snowshoes in the car, but brought along our crampons and ice axes. We crossed the Marble Fork of the Kaweah River then started up the Twin Lakes Trail.

We started off at a strong clip. I was hoping to get my Sierra hiking legs back under me but my body screamed in agony. My lungs, legs, feet and brain protested as I walked up the gradual trail. It usually takes me a few Sierra hikes to get back shape, but I was in exceptionally poor conditioning after a multiweek trip to El Salvador. I pretended to analyze the foliage to make excuses for my constant little breaks. The Mountain Misery was one of the prime candidates of interest due to it’s recognizable and nostalgic scent.

We followed the Twin Lakes Trail for 2.2 miles. Prior to crossing Silliman Creek, we picked up a well trodden use trail that stayed along the southeastern side of the creek.

We continued up to Silliman Meadow wondering when we would finally hit some snow.

The trail remained generally easy to follow, aside from the occasional fallen tree that had us make small diversions.

The trail ended at some granite slabs at a fork in the canyon. Many trip reports mentioned these granite slabs so we continued up the right fork of the canyon.

Snow patches had started to appear. They were melting fast and water was running all around us. We decided to keep our gear in the pack and find a snow free friction route up the smooth granite.

-Sierra Stonecrop

The patches of snow that were unavoidable were easy to walk across.

We reached Silliman Lake at just over 10,000 ft. It was still covered with ice.

From here it looked like the peak was to our east, but in reality it was more to our north.

Although it seemed counterintuitive, GPS corrected my assumption and we continued on our way towards the summit. Again we were able to pick a mostly snow free route, now that we were on the exposed southern side of the peak.

I could have found a class 2 route to the top, but that would have been too boring. I aimed for the ridge and once there, picked a fun class 3 route along the top of the ridgeline. It was very benign, but I’ve seen some YouTubers refer to this as “Death Drop Ridge”. They used a fish goggle lens to make their periphery appear more exposed. Most viewers end up being fooled by this trick, and they get a lot of views because of it. I find the whole mountain influencer culture to be fraudulent and pathetic.

Mike came up to join me while Colin stayed slightly below the ridgeline. The western summit was rather impressive with a nice layer of snow.

It wasn’t much longer until we reached the summit. We didn’t need our crampons or ice axes once.

To the northwest ran the Kings-Kaweah Divide.

To the northeast was the gash in the Salinian Block that is Kings Canyon.

To the east stood the Great Western Divide.

To the southeast was the Kaweah Range. Black Kaweah looked exceptionally striking.

To the southwest were Panther Peak, Moro Rock and the southern entrance of Sequoia National Park.

To the west was the hazy San Joaquin Valley.

Things were going well I felt, but out of nowhere Colin started to feel sick. It was not long before he started coughing, then some vomiting ensued.

Mike and I gave Colin some time, since it was early and we had nowhere we needed to be. Once he got everything out, we started back down, expecting his symptoms to improve once at a lower elevation.

The descent was very fun. I found safe snow patches that were glissadeable, both on our feet and on out butts.

Other sections had me stomp through the soft snow. Water was flowing everywhere and it was quite magical.

Then out of nowhere, Colin unexpectedly got sick again. We were much lower in elevation now so Mike and I were a bit perplexed as to why his nausea had returned. Only this time it was coming out of both ends.

Mike and I chose a spot to rest down below to give Colin some privacy.

Once he was strong enough to continue, we dropped down the rest of the slabs and found the use trail.

I remember walking back and studying Colin’s body language. He was clearly hurting, and I could sense the negative energy coming from his body. Colin is usually the friendliest and happiest guy, but this was a time that he didn’t want to talk. Instead I focused on chatting with Mike about stupid things, things that probably unintentionally irritated the hell out of Colin. One I realized this, I went back to studying the forest, mostly learning about Wolf Lichen, which for the longest time I thought was moss.

Colin started to feel a little better as we reached the trailhead. As we walked through the Lodgepole Campground, I noticed that entire sections of the campground were closed while others remained open to full capacity. This was most likely done as a Covid precaution, but was completely idiotic. They could have easily closed every other site to allow for more intra-camper distancing, however instead they decided to jampack all the campers into one small, dense section of the campground. I’m sure the mouth breathers of the park service believe that they saved lives by doing this. We hopped back into the car and began our drive back home, but I had to pull over a few times for Colin to throw up some more. What madness! He finally was able to keep food and liquid down once at the low elevation town of Squaw Valley. We still don’t have a good explanation for why this keeps happening, but I hope Colin figures it out soon, as he appeared to be in a lot of discomfort that day. All in all, it was good to bag another Sierra Nevada Peak, and while we didn’t get the snow we had hoped for, it was still a fun day in the mountains.

[lxveille]

acquiescence

hoshi x reader

word count: ~3200 a/n: paranormal disaster/societal collapse!au; a continuation of trust fall that i wasn’t planning on writing (at least not so soon), but i had to trudge through snow the other day & got to thinking; also slightly nsfw for some intimate touching.

In the quiet of a freezing night, you and Hoshi stumble over a line.

It’s too cold to snow, you think to yourself bitterly. And you’re glad that you and Hoshi didn’t have to argue about whether or not you were going to steal blankets from the safe house. There hadn’t even been a discussion over it. After a mere three days appreciating the relative safety and promise of a bed, neither of you were willing to give up the simple creature comfort of a few well-stitched, soft blankets.

One of which is doubling in purpose as an impromptu shawl around your head and shoulders. You cling to it from the inside, and it does a better job of keeping your fingers warm than your pockets alone have done before.

The safehouse must be miles away now. Hoshi had woken you up at some unknown hour, and the sun had barely begun to rise when the two of you started making your way out of the forest. Trees still lined either side of your trail, but the frequency of abandoned vehicles and snow-covered partitions are enough to tell you that you’re walking along a road now.

The two of you trudge on without many words exchanged. The sun has already peaked and started creeping westwards in the sky. There’s little energy left for making menial conversation at this point in the trek.

Hoshi comes to a stop. It takes you a few steps to realize he’d fallen out of synch with you. You turn back to look at him and find him staring off to the left of the road up ahead.  You follow his line of sight to notice a billboard in the distance, only partially visible through the bare branches of trees. What parts of it you can see are impossible to read or make out what’s depicted. There’s too much snow stuck to it, and most of what is left exposed after that has long been infested with the sickly yellow, stinging mold that had flourished as the second plague.

You call out Hoshi’s name -- or nickname, as it is -- only for the sound to be too muffled by the cover of blanket you have covering your face from the nose down. The thought of uncovering your features to the biting cold is dreadful. So you try again, nearly shouting into the fabric.

“What, Daydream?” he responds without faltering in his stare at the distant billboard.

At this moment you realize you didn’t really have anything to say. You’d just wanted him to acknowledge he was still there. It’s odd to see him as still and as contemplative as he looks right now.

To save your throat from having to tell again, you pull at the blanket so it’s tucked under your chin. Immediately, the freezing temperature stings at the tip of your nose and the apples of your cheeks. “Do you think the beetles will stay away in winter like must bugs do?” you think to ask at the last minute. You don’t need to clarify which beetles you’re referring to. They may have appeared after the electric grid had gone out, but you and Hoshi had already encountered them plenty of times since you began navigating the world together.

“I don’t know,” he says. His tone is fatigued and almost irritated, but he looks your way at last. “Nothing goes the way it should anymore.”

It feels hyperbolic despite the fact that on most other days you would agree with the sentiment.  

After so brief an instant, Hoshi returns his gaze to the horizon. You take a few steps towards him with snow crunching unsteadily under your boots. You pull the fabric back up over your nose and mouth and exhaling heavily, trying to gain some semblance of warmth from your own breath.

“We aren’t gonna make it to the next town before the sun goes down,” Hoshi admits at last, finally letting you in on what has him looking like he’d been kicked.

Bad news, regardless of how it’s framed. He doesn’t need to explain why this reality has made him so despondent. You bury your nose further into the cloth wrapped around your face. It will only get colder when night comes. Averting your eyes down to your shoes, you do your best to summon some kind of positive thought for your sake and his. A dramatic thought comes to mind (hope might be the only thing to keep you warm tonight) and you start to wonder if it had come from some line of literature you’d only half-read for school.

“If we keep moving, we might find some sort of shelter before it gets too dark,” Hoshi provides for you, shoulder brushing yours as he passes.

You shoot him a look that aims to say, but you were the one to stop first. He catches your near-glare and sends you an improbable smile. Hoshi is the only man you’ve met who could manage a smile like that only moments after indirectly admitting there’s a chance he may freeze to death.

The sun has all but disappeared when the two of you find the closest thing to shelter you can hope to come across. Wind has already blown some snow into the ground otherwise covered by the underpass, but it’s not even half as deep as the rest of the snow you’ve been walking through thus far.

By Hoshi’s request, you’re checking the walls and pavement of the underpass for any signs of mold or ominous cracks. While you’re scanning the darkening surroundings, Hoshi climbs the hill to check the overpassing road for any better options. You’re still kicking at snow to expose the cold ground beneath it when Hoshi comes back into sight.

“This is gonna have to be it, unless you’ve found something,” Hoshi announces, looking at you expectantly. There was a time when he might not have entrusted this task to you, you realize at the back of your mind.

“It looks clean,” you tell him with a sigh, tugging the blanket back around your shoulders as it nearly falls off. “If the ground does open up under us, I don’t think anyone could’ve predicted it.” The seriousness required to speak of such a prospect doesn’t shake you as much as it once did. But you only needed to see one sink hole appear to accept that even the most solid of surfaces were a risk now. It’d been a risk in the safehouse. It’d be a risk the whole day the two of you have been walking.   

If guarantees of safety still existed, society might not have given way to chaos as quickly as it had.

The two of you set up your makeshift camp as such: one blanket laid out flat on the ground with two to go over your bodies, and a third pulled up over your heads to help seal in body heat. Hoshi keeps his hat on; you keep the hood of the winter coat you despise pulled up over your head.

You lie with your backs to one another, fingers holding down the edges of the blankets in place as you shift into comfortable positions.

“Are you good?” you ask him when it seems you’ve both come to still. He hums back in agreement.

Cloaked and covered in stolen blankets, the only sound that passes between the two of you is steady breathing. Gradually, the layers of cloth work in combination with your natural body heat in making it feel a bit warmer. Or, your worried side chimes in, perhaps you’re numbing in some kind of subzero temperature already.  

“I remember the first time I got really sick. I must have been… four or five,” you begin to mumur, hoping to quiet down your fretting thoughts, “I had this horrible fever and could barely talk my throat was so sore.”

Hoshi doesn’t know what’s brought this thought on for you, but he doesn’t interrupt. He does, however, turn onto his back, head lulling to his right so he’s staring at the back of your head.

“My mom always said the worst of it was how much I cried. But I remember crying mostly because I just didn’t get it. I hadn’t yet learned what ‘sick’ was and I didn’t understand why one day I was fine and the next I wasn’t. …I think I was scared, too, you know? That I’d feel that way forever?”

He pictures you, not as child but just the same as you are now, in tears and frightened. Hoshi hasn’t really seen you cry. There have been moments when you’ve been close to it, when you’d been visibly distressed and scared. But you’d mastered some kind of technique of taking a very slow breath and swallowing down that impulse. He knew because he’d seen it happen. Because it had been the very first thing that made his heart pang for you, back when he’d been part of a discussion on what to do with you; a conversation that feels utterly foreign now that he’d long since chosen an option that hadn’t even been on table then.

“That’s the worst part now, too, isn’t it?” you posit after several moments tick by, “The not knowing why.”

Before Hoshi can agree or disagree, a harsh wind whips through the underpass. Both of you sit up and grasp at the blankets as quickly as you can. All the warmth that had been so preciously trapped in your careful cocoon is gone in an instant. There’s no words exchanged on how urgent it is to rearrange everything as it had been before. There are a few curses released in little more than puffs of freezing air from either one of you. Beyond that, the task is carried out without even a spare glance at each other.

It takes both of you a moment to fully realize how much closer you’ve arranged yourselves to one another once everything is back in place. Huddled together, Hoshi finds his chest only inches away from your back. With every exhale, you feel his breath hit warm against the back of your neck.

It seems to warm up faster with the new proximity.

Hoshi closes his eyes and imagines pressing his lips to whatever patch of exposed skin he can find along your neck. He pictures brushing your hair aside, or tugging down at the fabrics of your jacket and sweater just to skim along the very tops of your shoulder blades. He refrains. He’s certain all he’d get out of it would be you disappearing from his side.

Compared to his thoughts, letting an arm fall over your waist seems like the most chaste of actions. Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t notice at first when he’s done just that. You, on the other, notice right away when the weight of his elbow settles into the curve of your side. You tense at the sensation of his fingers skimming over the front of your sweater. You take a deep breath and try to calm the nerves that have suddenly jolted to life at such a simple touch.

It’s the noticeable rise of your lungs filling with air on that deep intake that makes Hoshi realize just what he’s done. Impulse shouts at him to pull away, to preserve the lines he’s already crossed inside his mind. But something unfathomable and seated left of center in his chest makes his stay just as he is.

You tell yourself that this is realistically just a better means of survival. Preserving body warmth was exactly why you’d covered yourselves from head to feet with blankets. Surely having each other closer would only contribute to the cause of making it through the night without freezing. Though that reasoning doesn’t explain why his fingertips are tracing meaningless patterns into the clothing covering your stomach.  

He has never been this close, you think to yourself. For every time the two of you have been near over these months, there have never been any touches such as these. Even if you had thought of them, or dreamed of them, or nearly caved to the temptation of them during those fleeting nights in the safehouse. Contact has always been practical. Or has always had the guise of practicality. In very little time at all, Hoshi makes it difficult for you to convince yourself that these touches are only aimed at giving the two of you a better chance of making it through the night.

Hoshi lets his hand slip downwards slowly until he finds the bottom hem of your sweater. He takes it between his thumb and forefinger, rubbing the woven material softly back and forth just as one might do with worry beads. Like he’s seeking satisfaction enough from man-made fabric alone. An effort that’s in vain. A testament to that much comes as he releases the cloth and lets his hand slip under it instead, splaying over your abdomen directly.

You shudder at the skin-to-skin contact.

“Is this okay?” he whispers. You feel the question against the back of your neck more than you hear it. You want to remain silent, to feign sleep to avoid having to answer, to take no side even if a part of your thrills at the feeling. Your lack of response doesn’t encourage him. His hand retreats immediately.

“You’re warm,” you speak softly, feeling your own warm breath come back against your face within the cocoon of blankets the two of you have constructed. It’s an excuse to let him put his hand back on your skin. You’re embarrassed at how quickly you miss something that had been so brief to begin with. Your vague words aren’t enough to convince him. You close your eyes and admit, “It’s okay.”

There’s a hesitation, and then his fingers are under your sweater all over again. His breath stutters against the back of your neck as his fingers trail a path up your stomach. They roam up and down the slope of your side, then delve towards your sternum. His palm settles there for a minute or two, and a part of you is certain he must be able to feel your heartbeat from there, even if not directly over that organ directly.  

Then they begin again, moving down to flit over the side of your ribcage pressed to the ground. You realize your sweater is half-pushed up at this point, but the warmth radiating off Hoshi’s hand and forearm make you less inclined to pull it back into place. His fingers move in circular patterns over your abdomen, never touching with fewer than three fingers.

“You can be closer, if you want,” you tell him under your breath, too self-conscious at your own words to utter them any louder.

“I can stop,” he offers alternatively, hand retreating from where it’s nearly cupped over one side of your chest.  

It is strange, this interaction that seemed to rise out of nothing. It is the most intimate you’ve been since the world began to fall apart. You wonder if the same is true for Hoshi. It isn’t inconceivable that you’re both simply starved for human contact that isn’t either aggression or helping hands.

“You don’t have to,” you whisper back, then close your eyes before you admit, “I don’t want you to; if you want it, too.”

Hoshi answers by moving closer, his shoulder knocking against yours as his hips come to press against your own. Through layers of clothing, you still process this spooning position as being one that yearns for something more.

The same hand begins moving downwards, asking a tentative question over each inch of your skin. It comes to a stop over the hem of your pants. Instinct as your spine arching, pressing your points on contact further into him. He must take the action as an invitation, because the next thing you feel is a thumb hooking into your waistband. He pauses there, knuckle running back and forth over the warm flesh between your hips as he skims his hand back and forth along the fabric.

You rock into him again, the verge of sensation already being enough to have your heart beating heavy in your chest. He laughs, and it tickles against your ear as it passes over as nothing more than a hot puff of air. His hand adjusts, slipping into the crotch of your pants with some strain from the positioning. Fingers spread over you, separated now by only one minuscule layer of fabric.

“I think it’s too cold for me,” he confesses, and you can nearly hear the flush of some uncalled for shame in his tone. He curls his fingertips to press into you more sturdily. “But I can try to help you.”

Putting a name to it makes a quiet mortification rise in you; it’s a shame parallel to his own, even if they sit at the opposite ends of arousal. You press your teeth into your lower lip, and try not to think of yourself as unappealing as Hoshi’s fingers start to seek a reaction from you.

You move your hand to his wrist, calling his actions to a halt almost as soon as they’d begun. “It’s alright,” you say before he can question what it means, “We should really just sleep.”

He pulls his hand out from your pants in compliance, and your own falls away from his wrist in response.

There are no exchanged wishes for good nights or sweet dreams. Nothing more is said before the two of you fall asleep in the same position, pressed tight to one another with one of Hoshi’s arms hanging over your midsection.

Morning comes, and you’re unsure if you’re more surprised by the position you wake up in or the fact that you’ve both made it through the coldest night yet.

Natural aches have settled into your muscles from sleeping on the ground with only one blanket to call a mattress. You both sit up and stretch before packing all but one of the blankets back into your packs. No mention is made of what occurred in the night.

You wrap the same blanket from yesterday back around your shoulders and up over the lower half of your face. It occurs to you that some part of the smell lingering on it now may be Hoshi’s. Immediately, you’re glad that the fabric is covering your surely blushing cheeks.

Hoshi is waiting for you at the other end of the underpass from where the two of you had entered the night before. When you come up to his side, he tilts his head back up at the sky and lifts one hand to shield his eyes.

“At least the sun is out today,” he comments, voice still carrying the rougher tones of morning. You nod and ask if he thinks today you’ll manage to reach whatever town is your next hopeful destination.

“We should,” Hoshi confirms, and looks at you properly for the first time that morning. You swallow and seek some sort of message in his eyes. But he is inscrutable today, so you are the first to break the silent exchange of curious gazes. “Are you ready to go?”

“There’s no reason to stay here,” you answer. The cloud the leaves your lips with the words is a testament to the fact that the sun alone does not make it any warmer than it was the day before.

Like any decent survivors, you leave nothing behind. Even when you’d rather leave certain complications buried in the snow.

[junker-town]

This balloon race started in St. Louis and accidentally ended in the Canadian wilderness

A balloon in the snow. Not specifically the one in this story, but they didn’t pack their camera so no actual pics. | Getty Images

“And we’ll all float on, alright.”

I have three thoughts about hot-air balloons: they look eerily peaceful, they’re key to one of the internet’s best videos, and I will never ride in one. That last bit has been fully cemented by the story that follows.

There is an international, hot-air balloon race called the Gordon Bennett Cup, which has a unique but simple premise. Each year, teams of aeronauts meet at a location and see who can fly the furthest distance from the launch site. They just kinda … go, then at some point they say, “that’s enough!” But when to say “enough,” can be a tough question, and sometimes it’s not up to the aeronauts to decide. Suspense!

Now, the key to flying a balloon is that you need some weather — ideally weather that is good. But the tricky thing about weather, and what separates it from humans, is that it has the ability to change. While cancellations due to weather are extremely rare in this particular race, a pleasant takeoff doesn’t prevent voyages from wandering into less balloonable conditions.

In 1908, during the third Gordon Bennett Cup, an American balloon hit a large patch of fog, then found itself stranded in the North Sea. In 1926, multiple crews were killed by a lightning storm that set at least one balloon aflame and forced several others to crash-land. In 1995, a Belarusian attack helicopter shot down an American balloon that had drifted into their airspace. Helicopters aren’t weather, but that example also highlights an important lesson when ballooning: expect the unexpected.

I, for one, would have never expected that conditions can also be too good, but then again I will never be an aeronaut. Picture a sky so clear that you can see everything before you. You’re able to reach breathtaking heights. The sun and the moon are simultaneously in view on opposite ends of the horizon. You drift along at somewhere between 10 and 20 miles per hour, hoping to be the last balloon afloat. And then you realize that you’re over the Canadian wilderness with no humanity in sight. That happened to a pair of Americans in 1910.

Alan Hawley and Augustus Post (who was born in Brooklyn in 1873 but I’m certain I saw the other day in 2021’s Brooklyn) departed from St. Louis on October 17th, 1910, in the America II. The fact that they made a sequel to a balloon makes me assume America I didn’t have a great time, but either way, this was America II’s time to shine. Leaving the ground at 5:46 pm, they traveled low during the night, breezing north at an altitude of 200 feet. The pair took three-hour shifts, one observing the horizon while the other rested in the basket. They used rivers for navigation and changed direction as needed by adjusting their altitude, finding a fresh wind current to blow them a new way.

At low altitude they could call down to the gawkers below and ask what town or county they were over. The grounded fools beneath them wished Hawley and Post well, our team pushed on, and by 9:40 am Lake Michigan came into view. America II powered through pressure changes above the water and soared deliberately rose to 5700 feet, continuing on to the northeast.

As the second night came, fog rolled in below them. The northern lights danced overhead. Venus shone to the west. But one thing missing from their view was people. As Augustus noted in The Century Illustrated Monthly Magazine, Volume 81, “When full daylight came, we could see no signs of life below us; as far as eye [sic] could reach, nothing but lakes, fringed with forests, appeared…”

Hawley and Post’s route from St. Louis to Quebec

Continuing over the Canadian wilderness, they began to hear the sound of woodcutters. America II began to descend, but not to land. Post noted, “...we hailed them and asked where we were. They said we were over Lake Kippewa … and headed for the wilderness. They offered some advice, which we could not make out.” Onwards!

The aeronauts carried on for another six hours. At times they wished to call it quits, but beneath them was a tangle of lakes and rivers. Returning would be impossible without a boat. It’s common for ballooners to not pack a boat since their intentions tend to involve air — the opposite of water — but for once, this decision came with downsides. They went four hours more without seeing any sign of life, in part due to clouds beneath them — a curious place for those to be. As noon approached, what looked like they might be roads and cultivated fields appeared in view. This lone hint of civilization made it clear to Post that, “it looked like suicide to go farther, particularly as night was coming on.”

Hawley and Post finally elected to descend. America II picked up speed as it approached the ground. Despite plenty of time to find a safe spot to land, no clearing could be found, so they headed towards the next best thing: some trees on the side of a mountain. While dodging escarpments, they snagged the balloon onto a large tree, then hit the ground at 3:45 PM, 46 hours after leaving St. Louis. Somehow uninjured, they tidied up their crash site, as gentlemen do, and surveyed the scene.

But after flying for nearly two days in good conditions, a heavy storm quickly found them on the ground. Although likely relieved to deal with rain and not an attack helicopter, the pair was still in some distress. They hunkered down under the waterproof basket cover and pulled out their maps,not to figure out how to get to safety but to see if they had traveled far enough to claim the world record. Satisfied that they might’ve done it, the grounded aeronauts went to sleep, tucked away somewhere deep in Quebec.

They awoke to good and bad news. The good: it was no longer raining. The bad: it was snowing. With the weather changing like the trickster it is, they began to follow a river towards Lake St. John, the last landmark they’d spotted from the sky. Three hours in, Hawley slipped on a rock and wrenched his knee. Between that and the whole crashed balloon thing, he was just having one of those days.

Once the pair could go no further, they set up for their first night away from the safety provided by a crashed balloon. Augustus took the rifle they carried and attempted to fell a beast of the woods to provide meat for dinner, but his shot missed the squirrel, so he immediately gave up.

In the morning they reached the lake, but their pace slowed as Hawley’s knee worsened. Their days became a cycle: trudge along, stop to eat an egg, keep following the shore, sleep, cry (probably). Snow returned. Rations ran low. In the wild, the construct of time is meaningless. Fortunately, Post had a watch so he knew it was 7:00 am on a Monday when their fortunes changed, one week after leaving St. Louis.

The pair found a tent that to them looked like a palace. To you or me it would have just looked like a tent, assuming you’ve seen a tent before. If this is your first time, it looked like a sheet of canvas hung to provide shelter. They settled in, lit a fire, and waited for the owner to return. The following morning, smoke from the fire drew the interest of a pair of trappers who were starting off on a hunting excursion. The two couples met on the shoreline and after some conversation, Hawley and Post’s journey home began.

By then, the U.S. and Canadian governments had begun large-scale search efforts. Most back in the States assumed the worst — downed over water, eaten by wolves, helicopter attack — but thanks to the trappers, our two aeronauts soon reached a town from which they telegraphed home. Celebrations were planned for their return, both for the fact they were alive but also because they had won the 1910 Gordon Bennett Cup.

America II traveled 1171 miles in 44 hours 25 minutes, winning the race by 40 miles. While their voyage fell 22 miles short of the world record, no one had ever flown as far as they had to snatch the Cup. After being lost in the Quebec wilderness, surviving a crash landing, suppressing man’s natural cannibalistic instincts, Augustus Post and Alan Hawley’s Gordon Bennett Cup record flight of 1171 miles would stand for some time — about two years.

[lindoig7]

Friday/Monday 4-7 September

Friday

TGIF – although I have no idea why.  Every day is like every other day at present.  We had planned to take a long drive to Dargo today, but I think we were both still suffering a little from being thrown around on the rough roads on Wednesday so we decided to take another day to recuperate.

We went out for a 3+ km walk in the afternoon, just around the district nearby, but apart from that, we were in and around the van all day.  We watched a DVD before our walk and I made a few phone calls and paid some bills including our unit levies. There is a different way of paying them from this quarter and it took me over an hour to set up and pay the 5 invoices for our apartment and each of its appurtenances.  At least that was a one-off and it should make payment easier in the future.

Saturday

We took a really long drive today – just a shade under 600 km.  We wanted to check out some of the caravan parks further east from here in case there was an easing of the lockdown rules when Dan announces his proposed way out of the crisis tomorrow.

We needed to buy a few comestibles in the morning and ended up at both Coles and Woolworths without quite completing our shopping list at either.  After examining the map, our main objective was Marlo.  We were looking for a central location a fair bit further east in the hope that we could base ourselves at a place where the rest of Gippsland was within comfortable reach.  Orbost looked to be about the most central, but Marlo looked to be a little more scenic.

We started out on the main highway but detoured through Bruthen after Sale and thence more-or-less straight through Orbost and on to Marlo.  We sat by the mouth of the Snowy River and ate lunch and then checked out the local caravan parks.  They were passable but really nothing special so we decided that the scenic aspect would not trump the extra 40-odd kilometres we would need to drive every time we went for an outing.  We looked at the only caravan park in Orbost and it looked quite acceptable so when we are able to move, I think that will be out target.  We went on to check out several more parks at Lake Tylers, Nowa Nowa, and Lakes Entrance but none of them really looked any better than the Orbost one. By then it was getting dark so we basically hit the highway and headed straight back to Warragul, stopping only at Traralgon to top up with more cheap fuel.  We had planned to get fish and chips for dinner, but we knew that the shop closed at 8 pm and we may not have got back in time to purchase anything.  In desperation, we had another superb meal of kofta that we had cooked a couple of days ago.

We never even put a DVD on after dinner.  It was getting late (for us) so we just read until we fell asleep.

Sunday

What a beautiful day it was!  Warm and sunny all day with hardly a cloud to be seen.  It was Father’s Day.  Happy Father’s Day to all the fathers out there, including to a few of the female fathers who had to be mother and father at times.

We went for a long walk after breakfast.  It was a slightly truncated version of the 8 km walk along the Hazel Creek that we did a couple of weeks ago.  It is just along the track behind the caravan but then across the highway and up to the northern edge of town.  We didn’t go quite to the end but it was still some worthwhile exercise and an enjoyable walk.

We had a few little tasks to do around the van.  We defrosted and restocked the fridge, did some hand washing, cleaned a bit of mould off some normally unseen damp surfaces, repacked most of our liquid refreshments under the bed, and so on.  I also washed thousands of squashed bugs off the windscreen and lights on the car.  (That was the second time I have had to do that in two days – and they are really hard to remove for some reason.  Maybe a special breed of Gippsland insects whose corpses stick to glass like limpets.)

I had some lovely Father’s Day messages and phone calls from the kids and we spoke to almost all of them on the phone so it was a lovely family day and I felt quite special despite the limitations on contact.  The news from the Premier that we had all been pinning our hopes on was really discouraging and it is so hard for the family and everyone else in Melbourne.  At least those of us in regional Victoria have retained the same level of freedom we had, even if there was no relaxation of the rules and little prospect of (ever) meeting the somewhat absurd and unrealistic targets.

In the absence of any good news, we made our own! We had another serving of our wonderful home-made meatloaf for dinner!

Monday

It was another wonderful sunny day and we made the most of it.  We had been deferring any exploration of Nayook because the Rainforest Walk there was classified as level 3 with very steep climbs and descents.  But it was only about 2 km long so we decided to give it a go.  Glen Nayook is about 10 km from Noojee on a road we have travelled quite a few times.

The walk was a little challenging, but a lovely place to wander.  There are some very steep parts and the track is nearly always narrow and single file.  It has lots of steps, but they are not well-maintained and potentially quite hazardous in numerous places.  There are very few handrails although some that were there had obviously fallen down the hill (hopefully not when walkers were holding on to them).  We were serenaded by a full orchestra of birds for much of the route, but they were very high in the trees and I only had fleeting glimpses of two birds during the whole walk – both much too far away to identify.  There were lots of tree ferns and most of the trees were mammoths, beautifully smooth and straight for what seemed to be 50 metres or so before the first branches appeared. Magnificent and obviously quite old.  There was a delightful creek gurgling through the undergrowth at the bottom of the descent.   The creek almost glowed in the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy - but it was all uphill from there!

One interesting feature was the amount of biggish animal droppings on many of the steps.  No idea of their origin though.  They looked to me most like emu droppings, but there would certainly not be any emus in the area.  Definitely not wallabies, wombats, koalas, etc., so it is intriguing what other animals might be there that were large enough (and plentiful enough) to leave the deposits.

We ate our lunch in Noojee and then drove up the Loch Valley road.  It was a very interesting drive through the forest with the road deteriorating as we drove north.  There were several signs warning of logging operations but we saw none – other than a few clear-felled areas and the obvious damage to the roads.  We branched off on a road (technically, a track!) that went through to Tanjil Bren that we had visited a few weeks ago.  It is as far as you are allowed to drive into the mountains without chains.  It was a rather adventurous drive, requiring pretty focussed attention, along a very narrow, rocky track with lots of potholes, water hazards, a few patches of snow and fallen trees partially across the track.  We love this sort of place.  It feels very remote and isolated, although we did encounter a few cars, fortunately all in places where one of us could get far enough off the track to let the other pass.  One place where we encountered a small truck was just after I had run over a shiny black snake.  I saw it slithering across the road and braked to avoid it, but I think I may have driven over the end of its tail.  I stopped to look back at it and saw it slither into the gutter with the tip of its tail at an odd angle.  While i was watching it, a truck came the other way so I had to leave the snake and drive a 30-40 metres to a place where we could pass.  We told the chap about the snake and he said he would look for it, but obviously it was gone by then.  Interestingly, where we stopped, we saw several small birds – probably more birds that we had seen all day.

From Tanjil Bren, we just took the main road back to Warragul.  We called in at Rokeby to suss out a longish walk we are considering and found that there is another shorter one there too.  We will probably give that a try before doing the longer one.

Back in Warragul, we went to Bunnings to return a ceramic radiator we had purchased a couple of months ago.  We had tried it a couple of times but Heather can’t bear the smell of it so we returned it with the intention of getting a non-ceramic one.  Alas, radiators have been replaced with fans and cooling devices in Warragul so we will have to make do with our other forms of heating until Autumn.

[alabasterswriting]

One In A Hundred

Summary: When Will Byers is kidnapped by the Hawkins Department of Energy he doesn’t expect to be turned into a science experiment, explore another dimension, get hunted down by monsters, or meet a girl that puts Jean Grey to shame. Dr. Brenner may not be a Demogorgon, but the secrets of Hawkins Lab are no less terrifying for two kids just trying to survive. Canon Divergence.

Pairings: Mileven, Will/Eleven Siblings bonding

Enjoy!

November 6, 1982

Hawkins, Indiana

“You sure you don’t want to stay?” Mike Wheeler flicked on the lights above his garage, bathing the darkened driveway in a soft orange glow. Thick snow clouds piled almost unseen above him, only visible by the shaded grey edges blending into the night sky. “My mom said she was gonna pull out the extra blankets. We could build a fort in the basement.”

 “I promise not to knock it down this time,” another boy, Dustin, tried to coerce. His missing front teeth made it hard for his tongue to work around the words, creating a prominent lisp.

Lucas, standing closest to the door to keep warm, raised one dark eyebrow in Dustin’s direction. “Really?” Disbelief dripped from his tongue, almost visible in the white mist expunged from his mouth.

 “What? I can do it!”

 Lucas crossed his arms and stared.

 Their friend, a small lad with hair shaped into an unflattering bowl cut, clicked the headlight of his bike on and balanced himself atop the seat so as to stay in place. The boy’s face scrunched up in apology. “I wish I could, but Mom and Jonathan said they wanted me home before it starts to snow.”

 “But what if you get caught in the snow on the way there?” Mike reasoned in an attempt to extend their time together. It was rare that their group was allowed to sleep over as none of their parents usually wanted to host all of them for an entire night. “Come on, Will.”

 Will waffled in his decision, doe-eyes flickering between the pleading faces of his friends. “I-I can’t. I’m sorry!” He exclaimed to the simultaneous groans of his friends. “But if I get caught in the snow then you guys can have bragging rights for the rest of the year.”

 “Just bragging rights?” Lucas questioned, raising his brow again.

 Will sighed. “And I’ll let you guys have first pick at my comic books.”

 Okay, that was tempting. Will’s collection wasn’t as vast or varied as theirs’, but what he did have was an impressive array of first edition comics that his grandfather had gifted him before the man passed away. Mike, Lucas, and Dustin had been itching to get their hands on them for years.

 ”Deal!” Mike’s hand shot out, clasping Will’s in his own. Dustin and Lucas immediately joined in, sealing the promise between them.

 A second later, Will dislodged from their grasps and positioned one of his feet back on the pedals. “Tell me what you come up with, okay?”

 “You got it.” Dustin shot him a thumbs up, fingers almost white. He adjusted the baseball cap situated atop his curls and smiled. “I can already taste victory.”

 “It’s a science fair project, not an eating competition,” Lucas fired with a roll of his eyes.

 “Hey! It's a figure of speech and you know it!”

 Will shot Mike a commiserating smile, one only ruined by the sparkle of amusement brought on by Lucas and Dustin’s escalating argument. “Good luck with them.”

 “Why are you leaving me again?”

 The long-suffering expression that stretched across Mike’s face forced a series of giggles out of Will’s mouth. “Think of it as payback for last week.”

 “I was sick!”

 “And I had to deal with them. It’s your turn now,” the smaller boy joked, pushing his bike forward. “Have fun!”

 “Will!”

 The echoing sound of Will’s laughter carried back to the trio as he curved out of the driveway and away from the cozy warmth of Mike’s house. “See you tomorrow!”

 Mike darted forward, hands cupped around his mouth. “I hope you get caught in the snow!” He shouted, sharing a grin with the newly distracted Lucas as the umber-toned boy elbowed him playfully in the arm.

 They could almost hear the smile in Will’s voice as he shouted back, “I won’t!”

 The three boys laughed, unsure whether or not to actually hope for it, but didn’t bother waiting for Will’s bike to disappear before hurriedly heading back into Mike’s basement in an effort to regain feeling in their fingers. At the same time, Will was just reaching the end of Maple Street, hands tightened into fists around the handlebars in order to keep them from freezing.

 Ozone tinged the air as the twelve-year-old steered onto the next street. His nose stung from the sharp scent of almost winter and his too-short sleeves displayed an array of goose bumps that no doubt traveled all the way up his arms. A white mist tickled his face with each breath he took and shivers crawled through his body. The ratty backpack he’d had since third grade bounced uncomfortably along his spine.

The darkened streets of Hawkins, Indiana were comfortable in their familiarity. Void of traffic, most people were inside hunkering down for the impending snowfall that was determined to blanket the small town so early in the season. Will could already feel a few flakes kissing his nose.

 He sped up, relishing the burn that spread through his legs as he pushed the bike further. Liquid warmth instantly flooded him and the cold chill of November brushed over his cheeks as a refreshing breeze rather than a teeth-rattling gust. More flakes began to fall as Dustin’s house appeared out of the corner of his vision, and he crested over the last hill with a sense of weightless euphoria that left him breathless for one brief exhilarating moment. He zoomed passed the house, feet stilling against the pedals as he allowed gravity to take control. The little trails of light that filtered out from the houses around him flashed like stars going into light speed, but as he turned off Cornwallis and onto Mirkwood Will was forced to adjust to their sudden loss.

 Another burst of speed sent the boy zooming passed the wired fence blocking the road from the Hawkins Department of Energy. His feet again stilled along the pedals as his momentum pulled him down the street and further into the woods. The light on his bike was the only source of illumination he had now, but he’d taken this road so many times he almost didn’t need it.

 Trees lined either side, rife with the sounds of insects and the occasional owl. Will ignored all of these. All he wanted to do was get home before the storm really hit. As much as he was sure his friends wanted to get their grubby hands on his comics, Will really wasn’t too keen on getting stuck in the snow with only an old flannel shirt and vest for warmth.

 It wasn’t like he wouldn’t end up giving them some anyway.

 The sound of an approaching vehicle sounded out of Will’s right ear, and he directed his bike closer to the tree line in an effort to get out of the way. Lights brightened over the eleven-year-old’s head, casting his shadow forward. He paid it little mind; it wasn’t unusual for cars to travel this way, especially if they contained workers from the Hawkins lab. His bike bumped over a few fallen branches as he maneuvered further off the road, waiting for the vehicle to pass with little concern.

 The headlights grew brighter, and Will was forced to squint his eyes in an effort to ward off the discomfort. His bike swiveled as his vision was momentarily blinded. A second later, a van with the Hawkins Electric logo pulled up alongside him. Will expected it continue on its way, but to the boy’s surprise the van slowed down to a crawl as if to travel alongside him.

 Confused, but not immediately concerned, Will pulled to a stop, his feet falling flat against the pavement in a jerky movement that had his hand-me-down pants almost catching against his sneakers.

 In the years to come, Will would wonder at what would have happened if he’d just continued along or even abandoned his bike entirely and trekked home through the woods. He couldn’t have known then, but it would still be one of those questions he’d ask himself at night when the silence became too much or the darkness too all-encompassing.

 His fingers flexed into a tentative grip along the handlebars as the van came to a stop beside him, and Will couldn’t prevent himself from inching back. He immediately chastised himself for it; this was Hawkins – nothing happened here, and these people worked for the government. They protected people.

 The window rolled down, and Will had obviously been watching one too many horror films because it caused something in the boy’s stomach to coil into a knot. His bike light hit the van awkwardly, only allowing the lower part of the driver’s face to be seen. The man had a particularly bushy mustache and his lips were pulled into a concerned frown. Will’s grip relaxed.

 “Hey, kid,” the man – Hairy, Will had dubbed in his head – called, “you need a ride?”

 Will’s first instinct was to say no. His house wasn’t far and while the first few flakes of snow were already beginning to fall, he was confident he could make it home before he became a human popsicle. On the other hand, he didn’t want to sound rude by refusing. These men – the military – had pulled over just to check and see if he needed help, when they no doubt had much more important things to do.

 He chewed on his lower lip before hesitantly shaking his head. “N-no thanks. My house isn’t far.”

 “You sure?” Hairy’s mouth pursed. “The snow’s gonna start coming down soon and I’d hate to leave a kid alone in the dark when it does. You can never be sure what these roads will turn into.”

 He had a point and Will’s resolve faltered. He’d almost broken his arm last year when riding his bike over a patch of black ice. “I don’t want to be a bother,” the boy said eventually, still trying to wrap his mind around the idea of the military reaching out to help some random kid.

 As if to prove his concerns invalid, Hairy smiled. His mustache tickled at his mouth, framing it with sincerity, and Will’s body warmed. It almost reminded him of the one Lucas’ dad made when they caught him skimping on his diet; so long as Mrs. Sinclair didn’t find out, it was just between them.

 The man reached out his hand and beckoned him forwards. “Nah, it’s no problem. We’re traveling the same way and you said your place isn’t far. Might as well kill two birds with one stone, right?”

 Well, when put like that refusing did sound a little silly. With a hesitant, but no less excited tug of the lips, Will nodded his head, mop of brown hair flopping about as he did. “I-I guess so. Thanks.” He maneuvered himself off the bike and made his way over towards where another man in full military uniform had opened the side door.

 Will handed him first the bike, which the new man took with appropriate care, and then clamored into the van himself. It was almost uncomfortably warm inside, his body still somewhat under the thrall of adrenaline, but his hands prickled with the sense of renewed feeling and he smiled at the soldier who had helped him in. The door closed with an almost inaudible click.

 “Better?” The towering man asked, face slack in an easy-going expression that had Will relaxing against his seat.

 “Much,” he replied, a bit overwhelmed by his good fortune. His friends were not going to believe this!

 The man chuckled. “Good.”

 “Hey, kid,” Hairy called from up front, drawing Will’s attention. “Wanna tell me how to get you home?”

 “Oh, right, sorry.” Will scratched at the tiny mole above his lip nervously as he got up to look through to the front of the van. Shameful embarrassment shuddered through him, and he mentally cuffed himself on the back of the head like his dad used to do when he was acting particularly abnormal. “Um, you just go straight down-” The sixth sense of someone’s hand approaching was the only warning Will got.

 There was a piercing sting somewhere along his neck and then nothing. Oblivion claimed him, smothering him in its embrace before he even had the thought to call for help.

  November 6, 1983

Hawkins, Indiana

 Joyce Byers began her day as she had everyday for the past year: downing two pills of Tuinal and smoking her way through half a pack of cigarettes.

 Her hand grazed the bed, finding the other side cool to the touch. A weak, gaping part of her ached at the chill, but another – stronger – part could only feel relief. He wasn’t here. Joyce mentally checked off Day Three in the back of her head.

 Warm blankets covered her half of the bed, but she had neither the inclination nor the energy to pull herself from the sheets until after she’d laid there for twenty minutes drowning her thoughts in last night’s beer can. In fact, it wasn’t until she heard the telltale sounds of pans clashing and banging about the kitchen that she somehow managed to commandeer the necessary zeal to get up.

 The comforting scent of half-cooked bacon filtered through the thick smoke of her room and she allowed herself a practiced smile before rising to meet the day. Her work uniform – a simple blue vest and name tag – hung over the old rocking chair she’d never felt the need to throw away and she tossed it on over the same clothes she’d worn the day before. Exiting her room, Joyce meandered her way down the carpeted hallway towards the bathroom to begin her morning debate on whether or not to put some effort into her appearance.

 Like always, the option for “no” won out, and Joyce emerged five minutes later having only had the energy to brush the knots from her hair and the stink from her breath. She breezed passed the doors lining the hall, pausing only once to stare briefly at the lone closed off room in the house. Sunlight – too bright, too happy, too beckoning – filtered in under the doorway, highlighting the trail of dust that rested there as if to remind Joyce of how long it had been since anyone had stepped foot inside. Subconsciously, she reached her hand out, a shiver racing down her spine as flesh met cool metal. The effect was immediate. Her vision swam. The muscles in her face froze. Vertigo hit – completely familiar and yet eternally new all at the same time – and she closed her eyes to offset the ensuing nausea.

 One, two, three–

 Inhale.

 –four, five, six–

 Exhale.

 –seven, eight, nine–

 Open.

 –ten.

 The world righted itself, tilt only slightly skewed, but enough for Joyce to pull herself away without tipping over. She’d been getting better about that. Her feet tumbled down the rough carpet in a carefully controlled staccato of enforced normality before she shuffled into the kitchen and collapsed onto one of the creaky, yellow chairs with an unsteady breath.

 “Mrs. Wheeler called,” her son remarked as if it counted as a greeting. His back was still turned to her, shoulder blades flexing while he maneuvered still-sizzling eggs and bacon onto a plate. “I told her you’d call her back.”

 Joyce grunted noncommittally. She scrubbed a hand down her face and idly grabbed for the opened carton of orange juice. “I’ll call later.”

 “That’s what you said last time and you didn’t do it,” Jonathan said, placing the food in front of her.

 “I forgot.”

 “No you didn’t.” He grabbed the chair across from her and sat down, reaching forward to grab the salt. “You can’t keep avoiding her, mom.”

 “I am not avoiding her.”

 “She’s called six times this week and you haven’t spoken to her once.”

 “I’ve been busy!”

 “No you haven’t.” He set the salt back down on the table a little too forcefully and leaned forward. The old table creaked ominously and Joyce made a mental note to find a replacement. She didn’t think the kitchen had been updated since the mid-70s. “You’ve had plenty of time. The doctor said-”

 Joyce flung her head back and rolled her eyes. “Oh, the doctor!”

 “Yes, the doctor. You’re supposed to listen to him, remember? That’s why you went to him in the first place.”

 “I thought it was because your father threatened to take you away if I didn’t.”

 “That’s not-” Jonathan cut himself off. He took a deep breath to reign himself in before saying, “You can’t do this, mom. The doctor said you can’t keep retreating. You have to talk to people.”

 “I do talk to people.” She twirled the scrambled eggs between her fork, pointedly not looking at her oldest.

 “Yeah, at work, when you have to.” He sighed, sending her a pleading look. “Mom, you can’t do this again.”

 Joyce opened her mouth, no doubt to rebuke him, before closing her eyes and slowly stopping herself. The problem was Jonathan wasn’t wrong. The only people she really talked to were he and his father, and whoever happened to walk into the store. She’d become a recluse, and it wasn’t like she’d been much of a social butterfly before.

 “I will…call her tonight,” Joyce relented. It was the least she could do. Wonder of wonders Karen hadn’t already abandoned her entirely.

 Jonathan nodded, stuffing his face with a fork-full of eggs. He looked down and bobbed his head as if preparing to say something he wasn’t sure she would particularly like. “She, uh, she said she was gonna bring Mike to visit today – or tomorrow. Probably bring the other boys, too.”

 His mother stilled, her fork hovering over her now cold food. She cleared her throat awkwardly and covered her mouth with her napkin as if needing something for her hands to do. “Did she say when?” She asked with forced composure.

 “No. Probably not until later. Wi—Mike’s never been a morning person.”

 Joyce broke a crispy piece of bacon between her fingers and let them fall. Jonathan’s stumble had not been missed by either of them. “I remember.”

 “So…later,” he reaffirmed with another fork-full.

 “Later.”

 The morning conversation trailed off from there into stilted, one-note exchanges that would have been utterly foreign a year ago. The scrapes and screeches of knives on plastic filled the heavy silence as Joyce and Jonathan piled tasteless food into their mouths. It stuck like gum between their teeth, with a texture that was simultaneously gagging and tacky. Like always, they swallowed passed their reflexes in an effort to fill their stomachs.

 Once they’d managed to down at least half their plates, they gathered them together and dumped the remaining food into Chester’s dog bowl for whenever the pup decided to wake up. The empty dishes were then tossed into the sink, right on top of the other dirty cutlery that had accumulated over the past week. They would clean it all later. The next few minutes were spent dithering about in an effort to waste time before they just couldn’t put it off anymore. The air around them stilled, filled with the heavy sensation of impending anticipation and dread.

 “Ready?” Jonathan asked as he grabbed his coat from where he’d tossed it on the couch. His blue eyes trailed his mother searchingly, as if waiting for her to shatter, and Joyce tried not to feel insulted. He had reason; she couldn’t deny that.

 She took a deep calming breath, digging a cigarette from her pocket and lighting it. Another inhalation – this one with smoke – and she felt her nerves calm. “Ready.”

 The November chill followed them as they left the house, making their hands rattle even within the heated car. They rode in silence and Joyce finished two more cigarettes before they reached their destination, sharing only one with Jonathan. Thankfully, the streets of Hawkins were empty of almost all congestion. At this time, most people were either still getting up or already in church, but Joyce had long lost any faith in religion and so didn’t bother.

 Jonathan’s old LTD pulled into the now familiar parking lot not fifteen minutes later, and, not for the first time, Joyce felt a rush of nausea flow through her. She hated how far away they were, hated that she had to be here, and hated how much this place seemed determined to suck her in. Her stomach rolled, and she must have swayed because Jonathan’s hand was suddenly in her’s, warm and welcoming like when he was still a little boy that needed to hold her hand. Maybe he did. Joyce couldn’t be sure, but she squeezed back and allowed him to pull her further amongst the carefully arranged rows of marble.

 Headstone upon headstone passed them by and Joyce mentally listed off the names without even bothering to look.

 Kathleen M. Applegate

 Marcus J. Jones

 Henry Louis Waters

 Anne Marie Stewart

 Thomas T. Thyme

 On and on they went. One after the other, until she and her son reached the only one that mattered.

 Willard C. Byers

Beloved Son

August 28, 1971 – November 6, 1982

 One year. It had already been one year. Some part of Joyce couldn’t believe it. She still felt the nauseating, burning ache as if it was still happening. The rush of fear she’d felt when she realized he never came home. Those agonizing two days of searching. Hopper’s face as he told her Will had been found. State troopers pulling his body out from under the snow drift.

 Planning the funeral.

 Burying her son.

 Joyce stifled a sob as she and Jonathan lowered themselves hand-in-hand onto the grass. Cool morning dew soaked through her pants, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. If she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend it was Will giving her a hug.

She lit another cigarette.

 “Hi, Will. We’re back.” Jonathan’s soothing tone filled out the silence of the cemetery, calming Joyce’s heart and almost fooling her into thinking this was normal. She couldn’t bring herself to talk just yet, but was happy to listen to her son talk if only it kept her from thinking. “Um, I finally got that car I told you I was looking at. The one Mr. Wilkes said he would save for me. It needs a bit of work, but…um, it’s really nice. I, uh, I’ll take some pictures so I can show you. Sound good?” There was no response, but Jonathan didn’t seem perturbed. In fact, he even seemed to be listening. After a moment, he smiled, wistful. “Good. I thought you’d like that.”

 His head cocked to Joyce, watching to see if she wanted a chance to talk. She didn’t.

Jonathan continued. “Ah, Mrs. Wheeler called. She said she might bring Mike over later. Dustin and Lucas will probably come, too. I ran into Mrs. Henderson at the supermarket and she said Dustin’s been wanting to visit so….yeah. They’ll be coming by.” He ran a hand under his nose and sniffled. It really was very cold out. “They, uh, they miss you. I see them at school sometimes. Seventh grade. They lost the last science fair, but said they’ll try again this year and see what happens. Lucas said their schematics weren’t as good as yours w-were.” He choked on the last word, hurriedly wiping at his eyes with his free hand, while Joyce tightened her grip on the other.

 Sometimes she wondered why they punished themselves like this, until remembering the alternative.

 “Lonnie’s still living with us, but he couldn’t make it today,” and the expression that crossed Jonathan’s face said he wasn’t sorry about it one bit. Inwardly, Joyce flinched. How far had she fallen that she’d allowed Lonnie back into their lives? But it just felt so good to have him back. It offered an image of stability she desperately needed. Was it wrong to need that? “Maybe he’ll come later.” Doubtful, but not completely impossible. He had come once, for the funeral.

 “Anyway,” the teenager shook away the unpleasant topic, “I brought some pictures if you wanted to see them. See, here’s Chester,” he pulled out the photograph of Will’s dog, now quite a bit bigger than he’d been last year when Will found him. “And here’s your fort. We kept it up. The boys like to go in and read your comics sometimes. Even brought some of their own ‘cause it gets tiring to keep going back and forth. And here’s…” Jonathan went on. Picture after picture, he detailed each one, sometimes embellishing the stories with little anecdotes and sometimes just saying one or two words.

 Hours passed in this manner. Joyce remained quiet as she listened to the stories; sometimes smiling, sometimes smothering sobs between swallowed lips. It was amazing the contradictory euphoria and suffocation a graveyard could invoke. Birds chirped amongst the trees and the lingering voices of other visitors echoed over the headstones in an indecipherable jumble. Joyce thought Will would have enjoyed the noise. He'd always liked simple things like that. A few red and brown leaves fell from the overhanging trees, and Joyce caught a couple in her hands. She took turns shredding them, just to give her something to do.

 Her watch had already hit ten once Jonathan’s chatter began to peter out. A few more ghostly breezes tickled their ears and stung their noses with cold. Cherry kissed cheeks stood on display for the world to see. The grass had long dried.

Jonathan cleared his throat. "I-I guess...it's getting late. We have to get going now, okay, Will? But we'll be back later so don't worry." His chin trembled and he blinked rapidly. "I love you, and I'll talk to you soon, okay?" He waited a second as if Will would respond. "Okay." His eyes flickered to his mother in askance. “Do you want me to drive you to work? I’m covering for Eric so we’ll get off around the same time.”

 The automatic response was no. Years of reiterating the same information – don’t work at the same time – had conditioned her against such offers, but present circumstances meant that it was better for both of them to be out of the house. They didn’t have a reason to stay home now, and it was easier to fill the void when they were together than when one of them was left alone.

 Voice scratchy, Joyce agreed. “Okay.” She allowed him to lift her from the ground and they both brushed off the dirt and grass stains to the best of their abilities. They stood there for a spell, neither wanting to leave before Jonathan took a staggering step forwards.

 “I’ll, uh, I’ll go start the car.” His head tilted to the tiny gravestone meaningfully, one that told her to take as long as she needed, and Joyce swallowed back gratitude. She tightened her grip on his hand before letting go and watched as he crested over the hill and out of sight.

 Like always, she crushed the niggling fear of never seeing him again.

 It wouldn’t happen. Not again.

 Joyce choked. It was half laughter, mostly sobs, and broke from her completely against her will.

 The simple plaque mocked her.

 “I’m sorry, honey,” she spoke, pointedly looking into the tree line. “I know I didn’t really get to talk much, but your brother is much better at it than me.” Joyce took a deep, bracing breath. “I have to get to work now, but, um, I brought you these.” She dug through her bag and pulled out a clump of crayons held together by a simple rubberband. “I thought you’d like to have them. I even sharpened them for you, see?” Indeed, the colored wax had been sharpened to almost useless points. If anyone actually tried to use them, they would surely snap.

 “Anyway,” she wiped clammy palms against her pant legs, “I’ll come by tomorrow. Jonathan has school, but I’m sure Chester would like to visit. And, um-”

 “Joyce?” The concerned, sympathetic tones of Karen Wheeler sounded behind her and Joyce found herself spinning around to face the much more put-together woman. Behind her, Mike, Lucas, and Dustin stood, their toes scuffing up the dirt and small bouquets of flowers clutched in their hands. Joyce didn’t doubt they were Karen’s idea, and she smothered down the guilt at having not thought to bring the same.

 Will would appreciate the color.

 Joyce wiped at her eyes. She hadn’t even realized they’d grown wet. “Karen. Hi.” She sniffled and shoved her hands into the pockets of her vest. “I-I was going to call you.” Maybe if she had she would have known they’d be here.

 Karen’s brow furrowed, easily catching the lie, but too kind to call her out on it. She offered Joyce a pitying smile and it took all of the woman’s self control not to rip it right off her face. “Well, I guess we can save the time now.”

 “Yeah, I guess we can.” She sniffled again, blaming it on the cold, and crossed her arms protectively against her chest. “Did you…?” She motioned to the headstone and shimmied out of the way with jittery steps.

 God, she wanted a smoke.

 “Oh, thank you. Boys,” Karen gestured, probably just to have something to say. She gently pushed the boys forward, and they moved on stilted feet, eyes flashing to Joyce as if they couldn’t decide what to do.

 Now feeling like an outsider, Joyce backed up. Amazing how company made her feel more alone than when she was actually alone. Her fingers curled around the empty cigarette box as if it could give her the same release. “I should be getting to work,” she heard herself say, and Karen turned to her, startled.

 “You’re working today? Joyce-”

 “Only the afternoon,” Joyce cut her off. “Donald can’t afford to give me the whole day and we need the money. Jonathan will be in college in a couple years.”

 Karen’s eyes flickered, displaying her displeasure to the world. “Well, yes, but one day surely can’t-”

 “It’s fine. He let me have the morning, which is all I really needed. The distraction helps.”

 Mrs. Wheeler still didn’t look happy about it, but knew better than to argue with her longtime friend. At least Joyce was getting out. It was more than she could say for this time last year.

 “Well,” Karen began, “if you need anything, you know where to find me.”

 “Right, thank you.” Awkward silence filled the air with neither woman knowing quite what to say or how to separate.

 Dustin, as per usual, saved the day.

 He stepped forward from where he and the other boys had been watching with apprehension and tightly wound his arms around Joyce’s middle. The sweet scent of chrysanthemum wafted up from the flowers still clutched in his hands. Too surprised to react quickly, Joyce only had time to lay shaking hands on the middle-schooler’s shoulders before he pulled away and offered her a toothless smile. “We’ll see you later, Ms. Byers. There’s a new comic and we need the fort.”

 Whether it was the smile, the hug, or the completely matter-of-fact way he’d spoken, Joyce felt the knot in her stomach loosen just enough to let her smile. It might have even reached her eyes. “It’s all yours.”

 He grinned again, the expression mirrored on the faces of Mike and Lucas, and Joyce found it in herself to move away. Her watch read ten-thirty.

 She was going to be late.

 “I’ll talk to you later, Karen.”

 “Yes, later.” Whether Karen believed it or not wasn’t apparent, but she let her go without any further fuss and for that Joyce was grateful.

 The boys’ voices followed her as her feet carried her away from the gravestone and back towards the car.

 Thomas T. Thyme

 Anne Marie Stewart

 Henry Louis Waters

Marcus J. Jones

Kathleen M. Applegate

 Headstone after headstone – each one telling her exactly how far away she was from her son.

 She clutched tighter to the empty cigarette box.

 Jonathan’s car stood out like a sore thumb amidst the greens and greys of the cemetery, and she could see him warming up his hands through the closed window. The longing pull in her chest that always awoke before she left reared its ugly head and she forced it back with a strength born from extensive practice.

 The car loomed closer and she opened the side door with perhaps a little more force than was necessary. Jonathan raised one concerned eyebrow in her direction, but something on her face must have told him not to ask any questions. Joyce half wondered if he’d seen Karen on his way back, but shook the thought away with a frown. It didn’t matter whether or not he had, and a part of her was relieved she could finally tick that little box under social interaction off. Now all she had to do was get through the rest of the day.

 “Let’s go,” she muttered, closing her eyes as Jonathan gunned the engine.

 She’d be back tomorrow. Until then, life went on.

 “Are you both ready?”

 Two children bobbed their heads hesitantly as they walked on either side of the white-haired man. Their tiny hands grasped his with the tenacity of frightened toddlers, and their bony legs quaked imperceptibly from the chill. Completely androgynous, it was almost impossible to tell the two apart. Their waiflike figures dwarfed them in comparison to the man, and their only distinguishing features consisted of a black tattoo printed along their wrists and a small mole above one of the children’s lips.

 Their route was a comfortable one if familiarity bred such sentiments. They were led down the well-trodden corridors of the Hawkins National Laboratory, bare feet slapping against sterile tiles in short, detached echoes. Plain metal doors were the only things that broke up the halls’ monotony, differentiated simply by the escalating numbers printed beside them, and florescent lights brightened overhead. The children blinked passed the spots sent floating in front of their vision.

 “Now, when we get in there I want both of you to be on your best behavior, okay? We have a very special job to do today,” the imposing man stated. He cut a clean figure in his blue-fitted suit and he smiled down at the two children with a paternal affection that was just two notes shy of being sincere.

 The children, either not noticing the underlying order or too used to it to know the difference, only nodded. “Yes, Papa,” the one in the beige wetsuit replied. Her voice was soft and distinctly submissive, but still unmistakably female.

 “Very good, Eleven,” Papa said. His head craned to the other child. “Twelve? Did you understand?”

 The other child, garbed in a loose-fitting hospital gown, nodded again. “Yes, Papa,” he replied, in the quiet, high-pitched tone of a pre-pubescent male.

 Papa’s lips twitched in satisfaction. He squeezed their hands once as they approached a large set of double doors before letting go and typing in a short code along the keypad. The sound of a deadbolt being released sounded throughout the emptiness and Papa grabbed their hands again as he ushered the children inside.

 He led them into a vast room, filled with bright lights and whitewashed walls. State-of-the-art computers lined their way, beeping and whirring as they fired to life. Eleven and Twelve pressed themselves into Papa’s side, trepidation oozing off of them in waves. Around them, men in lab coats dithered about carrying clipboards and adjusting dials. Many of them stopped and stared as the trio walked by, their gazes like physical weights sitting on the children’s shoulders.

 “It’s okay,” Papa reassured. “Don’t be frightened. These are all friends.” Friends? The little boy found his jaw clenching at the lie, though he couldn’t pinpoint exactly why this was so. It was a foreign word, tinged only with half-forgotten recognition that hurt him to think about. Eleven could only stare in incomprehension.  

 Papa pulled them further into the chamber. “They’re just here to watch,” he continued as if unable to sense their unease. “Don’t focus on them. Stay in here, like before.” He let go of their hands to give them encouraging pats on the head, and the children took in shallow breaths.

 Somehow, it didn’t help.

 Their hearts still raced with each eye turned to them.

 ��Yes, Papa,” Eleven mumbled, brown orbs unable to look away from the observing scientists. Men traveled loudly overhead along the catwalks and a large tank stood ominously to the side. Crystalline blue water flowed invitingly about the tank, but all Eleven could feel was trepidation as Papa pulled them forward towards the stairs.

 Whether Twelve saw her or somehow sensed her reluctance she didn’t know, but he still managed to shoot her a slight smile – barely a twitch of the lips – behind Papa’s back. It didn’t necessarily ease her apprehension, but the reinforcement of their solidarity allowed her to respond with a shaky, but no less sincere, grin.

 Their feet clunked heavily up the stairs; Papa lead at the front while the two children trailed at his back as they had been trained. If their hands touched it was only because the stairwell was so narrow. They reached the top deck and were guided passed the small group of lab attendants manning the computers. One of the men turned the wheel above the tank to open it and Eleven struggled not to flinch at the creaking sound.

 Papa held out his hand to her. “Eleven,” he beckoned, “I want you to stand over here, alright? And Twelve,” he motioned with his other hand, “I need you to stand over here.” The man motioned over to where a small metal desk had been bolted into the deck. Another, younger man stood behind it and his heavy hand clapped down on Twelve’s shoulder with enough force to send the boy tumbling into his chair.

 Eleven bit her lip. A little voice in the back of her head wanted to call the man out on his behavior, but she lacked the resolve necessary to do so. If she did, no doubt both children would get in trouble and that was something they both desperately wanted to avoid.

 Papa came forward with a cap composed of wires and electrodes, stretching it across her buzzed head and ensuring the leads stuck to her temples. The wires coalesced at the base of her scull to trail along the floor. They traveled for a distance before connecting to an identical cap situated atop Twelve’s head, linking them together.

 It was the only form of solace they could find in this situation. At the very least, they had each other.

 “Now, remember,” Papa said, drawing her attention to him. “Whatever it is, it can’t hurt you. Not from here. So there’s nothing to be frightened of.” Eleven took in a steadying breath, hoping to gather strength from this reassurance, but instead it only served to widen the pit that had already been growing in her stomach for a week. The memory of her last dip - of that thing - made her hesitant to take even one more step, but Papa’s hands guided her forwards anyway. The stand that would lower her into the bath loomed before her and she grasped hold of the hand rails nervously.

 “It’s reaching out to you,” Papa soothed, as if that was something she wanted, “‘cause it wants you.” He leaned in, lines settling in earnest along his brow. “Hmm? It’s calling you…so don’t turn away from it this time. I want you to find it.” He smiled. A chill spread through Eleven’s veins. “Understand?”

 “Yes.” It was the only thing she could get herself to say. Her eyes flickered to the side in an effort to catch Twelve’s gaze, but he was already looking away, focused on the paper before him with a pencil clenched in his hand. He was ready. She had to be too.

 Her soft reply must have been enough for Papa because when she turned back he was already nodding, hand motioning for her to be lowered in. The stand jolted, and the strange sensation of wet nothingness touched her skin as she entered the water. A helmet to maintain oxygen was placed over her head and the last thing Eleven saw before the blackout doors shut were the hungry gazes of a dozen scientists watching her from the outside.

[hohutchgreatescape]

Washington, USA

We left Canada by train, taking the Cascades route on the AMTRAK down to Seattle. The reason for this was partly do to with cost and the difficulty of taking hire cars across state/international borders, but also to do with taking a break from driving and viewing the scenery from a different perspective. The journey was beautiful, running right along the coast as the sun set, with lots of herons fishing, and one nudist beach who all waved as the train went by! The train was very cheap, which was great for us but it did mean there were a few stinky people in the carriage with us unfortunately... we arrived into Seattle late and checked into our lovely Airbnb, catching glimpses of the Seattle skyline glittering in the dark, and its famous Space Needle.

We didn’t really have much time to explore Seattle, as staying there was really expensive, but we had a lot of fun and a lot of food during our fleeting visit. Pike Place Market was really busy and vibrant, with plentiful fruit stalls, fishmongers throwing fish around, and quirky shops. It’s a bit of a maze, spread over several floors, so it’s surprisingly easy to get away from the throngs and find a quiet spot - we enjoyed sampling some food in a little courtyard, and a ‘secret garden’. Seattle graced us with beautiful sunshine the couple of days we were there, and we saw none of the rain that it is famous for!

We left Seattle, again by train, for the short journey to Olympia, a small city that is actually the capital of Washington State. We stayed here the night before heading to the Olympic Peninsula, famous for its wild coast, untouched wooded interior, temperate rain forest (I didn’t actually know temperate rain forest was a thing until researching this trip), and teenage vampires. Obviously we made a brief stop in Forks of Twilight fame, we were driving through it after all...

The Olympic Peninsula really did have a wild and ethereal beauty. Its west - where the rain forest is - gets a massive 12-14 feet of rain per year, so we saw plenty of grey skies, but the rain showers passed quickly and were interspersed with patches of sunshine. The beaches here are astounding - huge stacks of rock sit in the water and on the beach, some so big they are like islands on land with trees on top. Surrounded by rock pools, they presumably are islands when the tide comes in, and the edges of the beach are littered with enormous drift logs from the forests, silvery giants that you have to climb over to reach the sand. These must be the skeletons of trees that are hundreds of years old, they were so huge.

We stayed in a cute little ‘glamping’ cabin in the forest. Luckily the rain that greeted us passed after a while, as the barbeque was our only way to cook. The clouds here never fully lift from the hills though, it feels like you could reach out and touch them. The outdoor shower, fed by a stream, was actually warm as it had been fixed up to a canister of gas, which was amazing!

With our rain coats to hand, we also headed into the Hoh Rain Forest with the intention (!) of doing a hike after the short walks that led from the visitor centre. On the way we drove through short, torrential showers... the weather here really does change in an instant. It feels as though it could rain at any time; the clouds hang so low that you feel on a level with them and droplets cling to the trees and the beard-like moss that trails off them. Equally, even when the sky is heavy and grey, the sun suddenly peeks through. After walking the short Hall of Mosses trail through a variety of ancient and towering trees, we then started the second short loop. Even though it was a less than 2-mile walk there were fewer people on the trail, and it quickly felt like we were the only people in the woods. We then noticed a couple of guys up ahead gesturing to us... we heard some clumsy movement in the undergrowth to our left and saw a flash of black fur about 30m away. When we caught up with the guys, they said the black bear had walked right by the path, less than a metre away! We continued on, glad to find a few more people ahead (apparently bears tend to avoid human noise), but a bit further around there was the noise of something slipping in the trees, then a baby bear clambered between the forks of a tree and stared at us curiously. Our immediate concern was where its mother was - the one thing you are always told about bears here is to never get between a mother and its young - but we spotted it moving in the undergrowth, so carried on past.

At this point, we decided that we would perhaps not do a longer hike into a more remote area of the forest...! This was the first time we’d seen bears whilst outside of the car, and although they’d seemed perfectly placid we didn’t want to push our luck. 

For our final day in the peninsula, we drove up to a spot called Hurricane Ridge. It was an amazing drive, a proper mountain road with stunning views all the way up and occasional deer (and their babies) crossing the road. We reached the top to see our first glimpse of the Olympic Mountains, which had been hidden most of the time by cloud. It wasn’t long before the clouds moved in though, obscuring the view. Tiny, hardy little wildflowers and short, ancient looking trees line a walk that literally heads into the clouds.

We spent our final full day in Washington in the Mount Rainier National Park. Rainier is considered an active volcano, and is the highest peak in the Cascade Range. We headed to a place in the park called Paradise (thought it sounded alright...) to do the Skyline Trail, a loop with great views of Rainier and the surrounding mountains. After an extremely steep start, it wasn’t long before patches of snow appeared beside - and on - the trail. Dom had his doubts that we’d be able to complete the whole trail without hiking poles or crampons, but we kept going. The views of Rainier’s peak were incredible, you could see the glaciers in detail, creeping down its slopes in craggy blue tongues. Looking back down the trail gave a true sense of how high we were, actually looking down on several saw-toothed peaks behind us. The deep green hills folded into layers of inky blue where they were so far away.

More and more of the trail became covered in snow, and I had to admit defeat. We were close to the highest point of the trail (6,800 feet) but the path petered out into a very narrow, icy switchback with nothing to cling to, two small chasms that required jumping over, and a steep drop on one side. Beyond this path, we couldn’t see how much more snow there was the over the crest, so we decided we had to turn back. Getting back down on the snowy slope was a bit hairy but we got to enjoy the amazing views that had been at our backs on the way up. 

We spent our last night in Washington back in Olympia, which is a nice little town with some lovely quirky places to eat and drink.

[newstfionline]

Inside The World’s Largest Walnut Forest

By Peter Ford, Roads & Kingdoms, July 2017

ARSLANBOB, Kyrgyzstan--Nestled in a lush valley of Kyrgyzstan’s Chatkal mountain range lies the village of Arslanbob, home to both the world’s largest natural walnut forest and a legend, the truth of which is harder to crack than the nut itself.

“This is a secret,” said Roma Tohtarov, a guide with the village’s Community Based Tourism (CBT) organization, before continuing: “During the Soviet times, Red Army soldiers came with saws and cut down a large number of walnut trees and sent them to Rolls-Royce in England to be used to decorate the inside of their cars. Mr. Churchill had seen a piece of wood from here before the war, and asked Stalin for some wood in exchange for weapons.”

Verification of the story proves elusive; the luxury car manufacturer did not reply to questions and the story does not appear in any public records.

But it is an example of the kind of legend that villagers have passed on through the generations about the forest. Such is the central importance that walnut trees play in Arslanbob.

Hugging the 6,500-foot-high slopes in the shadow of the Babash-Ata mountains, the sprawling, ethnically Uzbek village is home to 16,000 people, most of whom have livelihoods that revolve around the annual harvest of the walnuts.

Families spend the long winters extracting the nuts from their soft outer covers and cracking the hard shells. Pretty much everyone, old and young, is involved in the process.

“Full nuts we sell, broken ones are made into oil--we rub it on our skin in winter to keep warm,” explained Tohtarov. “Of course, we also eat them,” he added, “but by the end of autumn everyone has eaten too many and are sick of them.”

Fortunately, there is a wide international market for walnuts not consumed locally. According to the United Nation’s trade statistics database UN Comtrade, 1,200 tons of walnuts were exported by Kyrgyzstan in 2016, worth $2 million.

They come from a forest that spreads east and west of Arslanbob in a confusing network of trails that weave through the dark green of the forest, punctured by patches of grass pasture and blossoming wild apple trees.

As you enter the forest, the smell of wood and coal fires near the village gives way to an earthy richness, as the muddy ebony paths crisscross over and around undulating hills. Tire tracks from Lada Niva cars-- the tank-like 4x4s ubiquitous across former Soviet states--mingle with horse and donkey hooves, churning the cloying mud into an even thicker mess, greatly slowing attempts to walk.

Recent nursery-grown walnut trees line up in regimental rows, while the older trees stand alone. In some of the deeper sections, trees are 500 years old, according to Tohtarov. Walnuts from these trees are prized for their superior flavor.

“October 2 is the beginning of the walnut season officially, but in September people start to collect from the trees closest to town, to stop the kids from getting them and trading for ice cream,” he said.

During the harvest season, hordes decamp to the forest, setting up makeshift shelters to allow for easier walnut collection, and the whole event has a carnival feel, with people sharing food and gathering around campfires to sing and share stories.

Story telling is an important part of Arslanbob culture, leading to various explanations over how the walnut trees came to be in the valley.

“There are two similar stories involving Alexander the Great, and at least two others saying important Islamic men brought the seeds from paradise to plant here,” Tohtarov explained.

“I don’t believe the Alexander stories, but about the Farsi or Arabic visitor bringing the seeds, yes, it must be true. Someone had to bring the seeds for the trees, as how else did they come here?” he asked as he slipped and slid up the forest track still muddy from the morning’s downpour, occasionally panting for breath, a result, he joked, of spending the winter months eating walnuts and getting fat.

Zahid Ubayidullaev, a former guide who now devotes his time to running one of the homestay options for visitors, explained the Alexander stories over hot black tea and walnuts at the single-story house built by his grandfather.

“When Alexander and his army was crossing the area, some of the soldiers got sick. Alexander sought the help of the local people, who gave them some of the walnuts to eat, and the men all got better. In gratitude Alexander did not attack them, and they accepted him as their king and built the village here,” he said.

“The other version says that after fighting nearby, some of Alexander’s men were injured and couldn’t travel with his army as it continued its journey. So they were left behind in this valley and expected to die. They ate some of the walnuts and recovered and decided to live here, which is why some people have blue eyes and light curly hair,” he said, repeating the somewhat common idea that classically European features sometimes exhibited across Central Asia can be traced back to Alexander’s rovings.

The forest has played an increasingly important role in the village since the fall of the Soviet Union. In the Soviet-era, everyone had a basic income and guaranteed work, with potato farming the primary occupation. Collecting the forest’s bounty was simply an additional source of food and income. But upon independence in 1991, Kyrgyzstan lost the financial support that Russia provided. Lacking the petrochemical resources of fellow -stans Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan, citizens found it increasingly difficult to make ends meet. In Arslanbob, residents quickly looked to the forest to provide their needs.

The village’s economic fortunes now rise and fall on the strength of the walnut harvest. This year, for the second year in a row, residents are concerned that the walnut yield will be disappointing.

On a recent visit, vigorous spring showers had added to the muddy remnants of a late dump of snow that blanketed the valley in up to a foot of snow. Drifts of what at first glance looked like a plague of fat green caterpillars turned out to be a carpet of dead walnut flowers, discarded by the trees after the frosts that accompanied the snow.

The seasonal nature of the harvest has led to efforts to diversify employment options in Arslanbob, primarily in the form of tourism. Efforts to bring in outside visitors to experience the natural beauty of the area have been decades in the making.

Speaking at a 1995 conference in Arslanbob convened to explore ways to preserve the forest, then-forestry minister T.M. Musuraliev waxed lyrical: “The walnut forests of southern Kyrgyzstan represent a great recreational asset for the population. The pure air, with the fragrance of trees and flowers, healthy, clear water, hundreds of picturesque gorges, mountain waterfalls and lakes attract thousands of tourists yearly from other Central Asian countries.”

Visitors have generally been welcomed by the community since.

“The rise in tourism has been broadly accepted by the community. Some of the older and more religious men do not like the tattoos or shorty-shorts on show, but that is about it,” explained Hayat Tarikov, Arslanbob CBT manager and a former forest ranger.

Speaking from his photo-festooned office near the village square, he added: “Its life. We have to change.”

The CBT network has proved an increasingly source of employment in the village, Hayat explained. In 2001 there were seven people working at the Arslanbob CBT. In 2016, that figure had risen to 162, with locals employed as guides, cooks, porters, homestay hosts, and drivers.

In concert with the growing tourism industry has been government-led efforts to protect the forests from overuse and exploitation.

“There is now a tree nursery where new walnut trees are grown and later transplanted to the forest. Cutting the living trees for firewood is banned; instead, the forest rangers identify the dead trees and branches that people can use instead,” said Hayat.

The 1995 conservation conference identified key areas that were threatening the forest, which at some 74,000 acres is a shadow of the former 1.5 million acres that the forest of wild walnut, apple, pistachio, plum, almond, and pear use to cover. Prior to 1917, logging was unchecked. In 1945, the forest received protected status, which limited the felling of trees, but not the damage caused to the forest’s ability to grow and replenish old trees from overgrazing by domestic animals, fuelwood collections, haymaking, and the almost 100 percent collection of fruit and nuts.

High fences of dead branches and barbed wire now partition the forest areas closest to the village. Locals can rent land from the forest ranger, in exchange for a percentage of their harvest.

Tohtarov said outside visitors had begun to influence how people in the region care for the forest, encouraging a culture of not littering during excursions.

It is also helping reintegrate the Arslanbob community into Kyrgyz life, after it recoiled following anti-Uzbek violence across the south of the country in 2010.

That year, a vacuum of power in the wake of the country’s second revolution in five years saw violent clashes between the country’s Tajik and ethnic Uzbek populations, resulting in the deaths of at least 200 people--mostly Uzbeks--and causing large numbers briefly fleeing over the border for safety.

“There were no problems in Arslanbob thankfully, but there was a big drop in tourists that year,” Tohtarov said.

Further strengthening the tourism industry and ensuring the health of the forest is the best course of action in safeguarding Arslanbob’s economy and culture, the local guides believe.

“In the future, I know that the forest will be bigger than it is now, with bigger older trees. The roads in town will be asphalted, the road to town will be bigger, and the Internet will be better,” said Tohtarov, explaining his vision for developing the village.

“I hope that a factory or industry will open here to give people jobs, maybe making t-shirts or shoes, and some apartment buildings so that the urban sprawl will stop. I hope that people here will better understand nature and not throw trash everywhere, inshallah.”

For former ranger Tarikov, the preservation of the ancient forest is the key.

“If I had a million dollars, I would make a wall around the forest with checkpoints, great rangers with good salaries, and really encourage the wildlife to return,” he said.

“Do you have a million dollars?” he asked, somewhat hopefully.

[biofunmy]

The Latest: Gov. Newsom says Trump wants to help California

The Latest on Southern California’s strongest earthquake in 20 years (all times local):

4 p.m.

Gov. Gavin Newsom says President Donald Trump has called him and expressed commitment to helping California recover from two earthquakes that hit the state in as many days.

Speaking to reporters after touring the damage zone, Newsom said Saturday that he and Trump talked about the struggles California has been through, including two devastating wildfires that happened just six months ago.

The Democratic governor said “there’s no question we don’t agree on everything, but one area where there’s no politics, where we work extremely well together, is our response to emergencies.”

“He’s committed in the long haul, the long run, to help support the rebuilding efforts,” Newsom said of Trump.

———

2 p.m.

Naval Air Weapons Station China Lake says it authorized evacuations for non-essential employees and their dependents while officials continue to assess earthquake damage to the huge military installation in Southern California.

The epicenters of the 7.1 magnitude quake on Friday and the magnitude 6.4 quake on Thursday were on the base, which is the size of Rhode Island. No injuries were reported.

Access to the base was restricted to mission-essential personnel until Monday morning.

Officials said most employees live off the base, but they authorized the evacuation so those who live on base can be eligible for reimbursements.

The installation in the Mojave Desert is the Navy’s largest single landholding

————

1 p.m.

Fire officials say as many as 50 structures in the small town of Trona were damaged by the magnitude 7.1 earthquake Friday night in Southern California.

In addition, San Bernardino County Supervisor Robert Lovingood said Saturday that damaged water lines prompted FEMA to deliver a tractor-trailer full of bottled water to the town, and firefighters were checking numerous reports of gas leaks.

The town was temporarily cut off after the earthquake, when officials shut down a highway connecting Trona to Ridgecrest because of rockslides and cracks in the roadway.

Julia Doss, who maintains the Trona Neighborhood Watch page on Facebook, said residents reported that chimneys and entire walls collapsed during the quake.

She said the only food store in town has been shuttered.

The hardscrabble town with 1,500 residents on the edge of a dry lake bed is considered the gateway to Death Valley.

———

12:30 p.m.

A seismologist in California says scientists believe the sequence of earthquakes striking the Mojave Desert will produce more than 30,000 quakes of magnitude 1 or greater over six months.

Dr. Egill Hauksson also said Saturday at Caltech that the probability of a magnitude 7 over the next week has declined to 3 percent.

He says the probability for a magnitude 6 is 27 percent so he would expect one or two of those in the next week.

The epicenter of Friday night’s 7.1 magnitude earthquake was 11 miles (18 kilometers) from Ridgecrest in the same area where a 6.4 magnitude temblor hit just a day earlier.

Hauksson says Ridgecrest used to be known as the earthquake capital of the world because it had so many small quakes.

———

11:45 a.m.

Eugene Johnson is cleaning up his home after the 7.1 magnitude earthquake brought down his brick chimney and fireplace.

The 61-year-old Trona resident said Saturday that he and his wife were in bed watching TV Friday night when the quake started.

They rushed into their living room to hold onto their fish tank and big-screen TV and watched the fireplace collapse.

Dishes crashed out of cabinets, boxes of macaroni fell to the floor and spilled everywhere, and the refrigerator careened halfway across the kitchen.

Johnson says his wife is ready to move back East but he doesn’t want to return to snow and cold weather.

———

11:20 a.m.

Naval Air Weapons Station China Lake says it is not fully operational after back-to-back major earthquakes hit Southern California.

The station said Saturday in a Facebook post that its non-essential personnel were evacuated.

The installation in the Mojave Desert covers an area larger than Rhode Island and is the Navy’s largest single landholding.

The Facebook post says normal operations were halted until further notice and it was not clear when they would resume.

Friday’s 7.1 magnitudes quake occurred a day after a magnitude 6.4 quake hit in the same area about 150 miles from Los Angeles.

———

11:05 a.m.

The mayor of Ridgecrest says there were two reports of burglaries in the Southern California city following the 7.1 earthquake Friday night.

Mayor Peggy Breeden said Saturday that some “bad people” came into the community and tried to steal items from businesses.

Police Chief Jed McLaughlin said one business was burglarized, with an expensive piece of equipment stolen.

A home was also broken into and police are waiting to see what was taken.

Friday’s quake occurred a day after a magnitude 6.4 quake hit in the same area of the Mojave Desert about 150 miles from Los Angeles.

Officials say there were some power outages.

———

10:50 a.m.

A state official says damage from the 7.1 magnitude earthquake in Southern California was not as bad as authorities expected.

Mark S. Ghilarducci, director of the California Governor’s Office of Emergency Services, said Saturday that Ridgecrest and Trona suffered structure fires, gas leaks, power outages, road damage and rock slides.

He says the damage was not as extensive as expected despite back-to-back quakes on Thursday and Friday.

He says nearly 200 people were in shelters.

Ghilarducci says cleanup work is underway in San Bernardino and Kern counties, and Caltrans has worked to patch and fix roads, as well as clear rock slides.

———

9:30 a.m.

A fire official says there were no fatalities or major injuries in Ridgecrest after the 7.1 magnitudes earthquake on Friday night.

Kern County Fire Chief David Witt also said Saturday there were no major building collapses but some structures could be weakened from the back-to-back quakes.

Friday’s quake occurred a day after a magnitude 6.4 quake hit in the same area of the Mojave Desert about 150 miles from Los Angeles.

Witt says there were some power outages and minor gas and water leaks in Ridgecrest, but no known damage outside the area.

He urged residents to get supplies ready in case another quake hits.

———

9 a.m.

Gov. Gavin Newsom has declared a state of emergency for a section of Southern California that saw significant damage after Friday night’s magnitude 7.1 earthquake.

The declaration provides immediate state assistance to San Bernardino County, citing conditions of “extreme peril to the safety of persons and property” in the county due to the earthquake.

State highway officials shut a 30-mile section of State Route 178 between Ridgecrest — the area hit by two major temblors as many days — and the town of Trona southwest of Death Valley.

Photos posted on Twitter by the state highway department shows numerous cracks in the road.

A spokesman for the governor’s Office of Emergency Services says crews were still assessing damages to water lines, gas lines and other infrastructure Saturday.

———

12:15 a.m.

Small communities in the Mojave Desert are reeling from a magnitude 7.1 earthquake — the second major temblor in as many days to rock Southern California.

Authorities say Friday night’s shaker was centered near the town of Ridgecrest — the same area where a 6.4-magnitude quake hit on Independence Day.

Mark Ghillarducci, director of the California Office of Emergency Services, says there are “significant reports of structure fires, mostly as a result of gas leaks or gas line breaks throughout the city.”

He also says there’s a report of a building collapse in tiny Trona. He says there could be even more serious damage to the region that won’t be known until first light on Saturday.

The quake at 8:19 p.m. was felt as far north as Sacramento and even in Las Vegas. It’s been followed by a series of sizeable aftershocks.

———

10:30 p.m.

Authorities say a magnitude 7.1 earthquake that jolted California has caused injuries, sparked fires, shut roads and shaken ball games and theme parks.

However, authorities say there are no deaths or major building damage reported from the quake, which struck at 8:19 p.m. Friday.

It was centered about 150 miles from Los Angeles in the Mojave Desert near the town of Ridgecrest, which was still recovering from a 6.4-magnitude preshock that hit the region on Thursday.

There were reports of trailers burning at a mobile home, and State Route 178 in Kern County was closed by a rockslide and roadway damage.

But Kern County Fire Chief David Witt says it appears no buildings collapsed. He also says there have been a lot of ambulance calls but no reported fatalities.

———

9:50 p.m.

An earthquake rattled Dodger Stadium in the fourth inning of the team’s game against the San Diego Padres.

The quake on Friday night happened when Dodgers second baseman Enriquè Hernàndez was batting. It didn’t appear to affect him or Padres pitcher Eric Lauer.

However, it was obvious to viewers of the SportsNet LA broadcast when the TV picture bounced up and down.

The quake registered an initial magnitude of 6.9 to 7.1, according to the U.S. Geological Survey.

There was no announcement by the stadium’s public address announcer.

Some fans in the upper deck appeared to leave their seats and move to a concourse at the top of the stadium.

The press box lurched for about 20 seconds.

The quake occurred a day after a magnitude 6.4 quake hit in the Mojave Desert about 150 miles from Los Angeles.

———

9:40 p.m.

Authorities are now reporting injuries and damage from a big earthquake that was felt throughout Southern California and into Las Vegas and even Mexico.

The quake that hit at 8:19 p.m. was given a preliminary magnitude of 6.9 to 7.1, but the measurements were being calculated.

It followed Thursday’s 6.4-mangitude quake that at the time was the largest Southern California quake in 20 years. Both were centered near Ridgecrest in the Mojave Desert.

Kern County fire officials reported “multiple injuries and multiple fires” without providing details. San Bernardino County firefighters reported cracked buildings and a minor injury.

———

8:30 p.m.

An earthquake with a preliminary magnitude of 6.9 has jolted Southern California, but there are no immediate reports of damage or injuries.

The U.S. Geological Survey says the quake hit at 8:19 p.m. Friday and was centered 11 miles from Ridgecrest, where a magnitude 6.4 quake struck on Thursday. The agency initially said the earthquake had a magnitude of 7.1.

The quake was felt downtown as a rolling motion that seemed to last at least a half-minute. It was felt as far away as Las Vegas, and the USGS says it also was felt in Mexico.

If the preliminary magnitude is correct, it would be the largest Southern California quake in 20 years.

———

4 p.m.

Seismologists say there have been 1,700 aftershocks in the wake of the strongest earthquake to hit Southern California in 20 years but the chances of another large temblor are diminishing.

A magnitude 5.4 quake at 4:07 a.m. Friday is so far the strongest aftershock of Thursday’s 6.4 quake, which struck in the Mojave Desert near the town of Ridgecrest.

Zachary Ross of the California Institute of Technology says the number of aftershocks might be slightly higher than average. He also says a quake of that size could continue producing aftershocks for years.

The quake caused some damage to buildings and roads in and around Ridgecrest.

However, seismologists say it’s unlikely the quake will affect any fault lines away from the immediate area, such as the mighty San Andreas.

———

1:20 p.m.

The city of Los Angeles is planning to reduce the threshold for public notifications by its earthquake early warning app, but officials say it was in the works before Southern California’s big earthquake Thursday.

The ShakeAlert LA app was designed to notify users of magnitudes of 5.0 or greater and when a separate intensity scale predicts potentially damaging shaking.

Robert de Groot of the U.S. Geological Survey says lowering the magnitude to 4.5 was already being worked on and had been discussed with LA as recently as a day before Thursday’s magnitude 6.4 quake centered in the Mojave Desert.

The shaking intensity levels predicted for LA were below damaging levels, so an alert was not triggered.

Mayor’s office spokeswoman Andrea Garcia also says the lower magnitude threshold has been in the planning stages and an update to the system is expected this month.

———

7:05 a.m.

A vigorous aftershock sequence is following the strongest earthquake to hit Southern California in 20 years.

A magnitude 5.4 quake at 4:07 a.m. Friday is so far the strongest aftershock of Thursday’s magnitude 6.4 jolt, and was felt widely.

Seismologists had said there was an 80% probability of an aftershock of that strength.

Thursday’s big quake struck in the Mojave Desert, about 150 miles (240 kilometers) northeast of Los Angeles, near the town of Ridgecrest, which suffered damage to buildings and roads.

———

9 p.m.

The strongest earthquake in 20 years shook a large swath of Southern California and parts of Nevada on the July 4th holiday, rattling nerves and causing injuries and damage in a town near the epicenter, followed by a swarm of ongoing aftershocks.

The 6.4 magnitude quake struck at 10:33 a.m. Thursday in the Mojave Desert, about 150 miles (240 kilometers) northeast of Los Angeles, near the town of Ridgecrest, California.

Kern County Fire Chief David Witt says multiple injuries and two house fires were reported in the town of 28,000. Emergency crews were also dealing with small vegetation fires, gas leaks and reports of cracked roads.

Witt says 15 patients were evacuated from the Ridgecrest Regional Hospital as a precaution and out of concern for aftershocks.

Sahred From Source link Technology

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[thehikingviking]

Smith Mountain from Gold Valley in DVNP, and other peaks along the way

I had meticulously planned a long desert road trip only for a storm with “light snow” to completely change everything. As we made our way down Highway 5, I learned that the Grapevine was closed and all traffic headed towards Southern California was redirected towards Highway 58 over Tehachapi Pass. The reported traffic conditions were poor and Google Maps stated that going over Walker Pass via Highway 178 was faster. The Caltrans website and twitter page confirmed the roads were open. All went well until we were stopped by parked traffic just a few miles from the pass. We waited for a while, but traffic wasn’t moving and many people were turning around. The rumor being passed down was a big rig crashed on Highway 14 on the other side of the pass. We had no way to ascertain when the stoppage would be cleared, so I decided to turn around and find a place to sleep. We had all the gear needed to comfortably sleep in the car so we park at the trailhead for Hooper Hill where we spent the night.

It was cold the next morning. Asaka was slow in getting up so I decided to run up Ball Mountain.

I reached the summit in about 15 minutes but the views were blocked by clouds.

I jogged back down to the car then Asaka and I followed the trail up Hooper Hill. We followed the path to the the ridge then cut back towards the summit. There was a thin layer of soft snow on the ground, but it was easy to walk across.

I admired the various animal tracks that utilized and bisected the trail.

Several large boulders covered the summit. What would have been an easy move to surmount in the summer was made a little tricky with the snow coating the tops of the large stones. To the southeast was Piute Peak. 

The rest of the views were obstructed. Rather than follow the trail back down, we dropped straight down the eastern slopes to the car.

We had lunch in Lake Isabella and drove over Walker Pass which was finally open. I was dumbfounded by the amount of snow along the side of the road and atop the mountains. I needed one more bonus peak to feel fulfilled, so I turned my attention to the lower 5,174 ft Five Fingers. When I arrived there was more snow than I expected, but I couldn’t think of any lower peaks to climb. Even the El Paso Mountains were covered with snow. The beauty of the peak drove me to attempt it anyway.

At first the snow was shallow and manageable. Asaka was feeling tired but we didn’t have very far to climb, so we took it slowly. As we climbed higher, the terrain become more rocky and footing became uncertain.

The snow became deeper, but the outstanding views distracted me from the worsening conditions.

Owens Peak stood above us towards the west.

I went from knee deep to waist deep snow. Breaking trail was become a chore. I began audibly grunting as I trudged onward. The summit was only a mere hundred feet above us, but we had to cross over to the north side of the peak to find the easiest summit chute.

As we traversed around we left the sunlight and temperatures began to cool off. The wind was becoming more noticeable, and our route was often obstructed by large boulders that lengthened our route.

The last 50 feet or so was covered with snow and ice. It did not look safe. Asaka was also beginning to struggle and she wanted to turn back. To make matter worse, my hat blew off my head and rested beneath a small cliff down below. I was visibly upset, but it was the right call to turn around. I retrieved my hat and made my way back to the sunny side. I made one go up the side of the rock that was free of snow and exposed to the sun.

I did a couple class 4 moves with wet feet. I maybe could have continued to the summit, but I was unsure if the climbing would continue to increase in difficulty. The more I committed myself, the harder it would be to descend. It wasn’t a worthy enough peak for me to put myself in such danger, so I bailed and we descended back down to the car.

I was bummed. If we couldn’t even climb a five thousand foot peak, then we would have no chance on the 8,000 ft peak I had planned for the next day. We booked a motel in Ridgecrest and had dinner with my roommate and his family who were passing through. I re-outlined the whole trip, this time taking into account the snow and Asaka’s pregnancy.

The next day I planned to climb Lookout Mountain and Death Valley Buttes, both in Andy Zdon’s Desert Summits book and both with low summit elevations. We drove north along Panamint Valley then turned west on the dirt Minietta Road. Road conditions were good until we reached the base of Lookout Mountain. I was under the impression we would be able to drive most of the way up the peak via Stone Canyon, however the road conditions proved to be too difficult for my jeep. I eventually gave up and we parked along the north side of the peak at 3,200 ft. We continued up the road on foot.

It was a good decision to park because I wouldn’t have been able to make it much further. Terry Flood mentioned he parked at 3,400 ft, and only a very capable vehicle would have been able to go any further than that. I asked Asaka if she wanted to climb directly towards the peak, or take the longer road to the top. She preferred the latter. There we signs of mining activity throughout the canyon.

We followed the road to the saddle west of Lookout Mountain at the wilderness boundary then continued along the road to the top.

We left the road just south of the peak and hiked across the rocky terrain towards the summit.

To the north were Panamint Butte and Towne Benchmark.

To the northeast was Pinto Peak.

To the east were Wildrose Peak, Rogers Peak, Bennett Peak and Telescope Peak.

The register had more signatures than I expected for such a minor peak.

We dropped off the north side of the peak, following some steep use trails down to Stone Canyon. Once at the car, we drove into Death Valley and parked along Daylight Pass Rd at the northeastern end of Death Valley Buttes, our next objective. We climbed to the ridge where we found a use trail.

I tried my best to observe the snow level of the surrounding peaks to help give me an idea of what to climb the next day. Funeral Mountain appeared to have snow, and I couldn’t really make out the conditions of Smith Mountain.

To the north was Corkscrew Peak. This showed few challenges, but for some reason I didn’t really feel like doing this peak. I wanted to choose something with a more remote trailhead since I could use the rest of the day to get there.

We reached Death Valley Buttes, East, which was just a false summit. Asaka decided to call it quits here and I continued on my own.

I tried to make it quick. I jogged and power walked as much as I could. I found three big horn sheep grazing on the slopes below me.

The final ascent had some fun low class 3.

The further I climbed, the harder it became to spot Asaka resting below the false summit.

After the scrambling, the true summit was reached just a couple minutes later.

To the north was Corkscrew Peak.

To the southeast ran the Funeral Mountains.

To the south were Badwater and Telescope Peak.

To the west were the Mesquite Flat Sand Dunes and the Cottonwood Mountains.

To the northwest was Tin Mountain.

I sipped on some water, signed the register and hurried back down. I caught up to Asaka on the walk down and we descended the same way back to the car.

I still hadn’t made up my mind for the next day, so I brainstormed over dinner in Shoshone. While there was a risk of snow covering the peak, I felt the best decision was to climb Smith Mountain, as I heard the drive to the trailhead was a long one and we had enough time to endure it. We approached via Greenwater Valley, which I was surprised to find was a good 2WD dirt road. We eventually left this road for a 4WD road leading towards Gold Valley, however the conditions of the roads remained decent enough for my Jeep Grand Cherokee. My biggest concern was the layer of snow which coated the road. The snow disappeared as we descended into Gold Valley, and we parked off the road on a slight incline where we planned to depart the next morning.

We woke up as the sun rose and I found there to still be a good amount of snow on the peak. With a class 2 route to the top, I figured we would be able to manage.

We started off hiking across the large alluvial fan descending down Gold Valley, crossing several small washes along the way.

We aimed for the canyon leading up the northeast side of Smith Mountain.

The canyon spends most of the day shaded, so snow remained along our route. I was concerned about Asaka, but she appeared to be eager enough to give the cold canyon a shot.

We remained in the shade, but nothing along the way really gave us trouble. The toughest part was one steep section with a step that we surmounted with relative ease.

We took a rest on a dirt spot in the sunlight and eyed the next section. The snow remained thin enough to pass, so we ascended a ridge leading toward the saddle of Smith Mountain and Smith Mountain, East Peak.

Out of nowhere, a mouse jumped out of a bush towards me. After realizing its error, it ducked behind a bush where it thought it was hidden. Its long tail grossed me out. This guy wasn’t very smart. It remained completely in view, so I snapped a couple photos of him and continued upwards.

There is something very calming about trudging through light snow. The conditions gave more personality to what would have probably been a boring hike.

We reached the saddle where we had views of Ashford Junction to the south.

Smith Mountain stood just a short distance to the west.

Death Valley was visible through a gap to the north.

We picked up a use trail here and followed it the remaining distance, avoiding the snow patches wherever possible.

We reached the top. Off towards the east were Charleston Peak and the Nopah Range.

To the southeast was Smith Mountain East Peak.

To the south was Ashford Junction.

To the southwest were Needle Peak, Manly Peak and Porter Peak. There was also a challenger peak which appeared lower.

To the northwest was Telescope Peak.

To the northeast was Funeral Peak

I decided to run to the challenger peak just to make sure I was on the high point while Asaka waited behind.

This point held the register and the benchmark, however it was clearly lower.

I suppose this point had better views from a surveying perspective.

I hiked back to the true summit where I joined Asaka for lunch. The eastern summit was so close, but my biggest challenge would be to convince Asaka. I first asked her if she would be inclined to join me, to which she immediately declined.

I worked several angles but none seemed too persuasive. I commented that it would be easier to hike over the east summit and hike down the other side, which may have actually been true. Before she could express displeasure, I marched onward. I looked back and she was following me, so it looked like I would get my wish.

We reached the top in no time. 

I had the idea of climbing Gold Valley Peak as a bonus, which is listed in Purcell’s Rambles and Scrambles book. It was somewhere to our southeast but I couldn’t make it out.

The previous summit stood across the saddle.

I couldn’t find the benchmark which was buried in snow, but I did find a reference marker.

Even Asaka seemed glad that we made the bonus peak.

My plan was to descend the ridgeline directly towards Gold Valley.

This plan worked like a charm. The soft snow cushioned our steps and the dirt was soft as well. I was barely able to make out the car parked a few miles away.

The descent went by very quickly. We picked up some Mylar balloons along the way. The walk across the alluvial fan was uneventful and we reached the car around 2pm.

With so much daylight left, I had enough time for a bonus peak and Gold Valley Peak fit the bill. I drove south as far as I could and parked at an abandoned mine. Asaka didn’t want to join and would wait for me in the car. I told her I would be back in an hour an a half.

I followed the road further on foot then headed cross country towards the ridge on the west side of the peak.

From there I headed east, finding very little difficulty accessing the summit area.

The north summit was marked as higher, so I quickly marched up the final section to the top.

Here I found a fairly new register with the signatures I expected.

To the north was Funeral Peak.

To the west was Smith Mountain.

To the southwest was China Lake Naval Weapons Center.

To the southeast was Avawatz Peak.

To the east was Greenwater Valley.

Rather than follow the same route down, I headed off the north summit and quickly scrambled down to firmer ground.

Once on easier terrain, I jogged back to the car.

It took me only 45 minutes to bag the peek. Asaka was surprised to find me back so soon. I snapped a couple photos of the interesting rock formations surrounding the Jeep.

From there we drove out to Shoshone and continued on towards Pahrump where we ate a warm dinner and watched the 49ers beat the Seahawks.

[nsschaintale]

Integrity Searches For Freedom

CHAINTALE

THE FALLEN SIX

Integrity Searches For Freedom

Once upon a time in a growing town near the foot of a mountain,

a young girl lives with her parents.

Eyes of hazel and hair of honey brown,

Ingrid was a calm child.

She was a ballet dancer, and a good one at that.

She also loved reading about mysteries and solving them, too.

There's an old saying that she lives by:

“The truth shall set you free”

Whether a problem or mistake is minor or major,

Ingrid was always honest.

Some say that she's too honest,

but she believes there's not enough of it.

“A little honesty goes a long way”, she would say.

“Even if it would hurt you?”, someone would ask.

“It won't bother me like lying would”, she would reply.

Ingrid hated lying.

One day, she learned about an old legend

and heard of two children who disappeared years ago.

Ingrid couldn't help herself.

She wanted to solve this mystery.

But there was a problem:

her family would never allow her to go.

How will she go to the mountain?

She had no choice.

Wearing her pair of pink ballet shoes and pink tutu,

Ingrid did the one thing she hated the most;

she was going to ballet practice...

but she lied about it.

Halfway to her practice, she turned to Mt. Ebott,

along the paved cobblestone road and through the forest.

She trekked her way up the slope

and came upon the entrance.

Two children fell into this bottomless hole

and vanished in the Monster World.

Ingrid was careful in getting close,

but sadly not enough.

Down, down, down the hole she fell,

until she landed in a bed of yellow flowers.

She tried to climb back up but failed,

and soon found herself in a crumbling ruins.

She walked through the empty hall until she saw a flower.

It had a face and a friendly smile.

It called itself Flowey.

”Welcome to the Underground!”, it shouted happily.

Flowey taught Ingrid about what happens here.

LV meaning LOVE, how it's gained by friendliness pellets,

even about her Soul, which is a calm blue heart.

The pellets hurt a lot.

Ingrid was confused that the flower wanted to hurt her,

but then understood why.

Flowey turned from a friendly flower to something terrifying,

and Ingrid tried to run.

She realized that she was surrounded by white seeds,

but they went away by flames.

A monster in a purple dress and decorated with chains appeared.

Her name is Torquem, Guardian of the Ruins.

Hand in paw, Ingrid was led through the Ruins.

She was curious about the monsters and talked to them.

They reached the long hall and Torquem challenged her on her independence.

She passed.

She then told her to wait for her while she went to go get something.

She did what she was told, even had a few calls from Torquem.

Something about a dog.

But she had to move on.

Ingrid wanted to find the children, but didn't know where to start.

She met Torquem first, so she might know.

She wandered throughout the Ruins, but couldn't find the answer.

She hoped that she'll meet the children.

She only met monsters.

But the monsters were too excited to see her.

There were whispers of her presence, and words spoken of a king.

Ingrid could only dodge.

She had no choice but to escape,

using her ballet dance to dodge and weave from attacks.

But to some, she tried to talk.

Just like Torquem taught her.

Ingrid managed to escape the monsters.

She was glad to have learned what she did.

She hasn't learned about the missing children.

She made it her focus.

Ready to search for the truth, Ingrid reached a crossroad.

There, she heard chains coming towards her.

She saw Torquem, and she saw her.

Torquem was glad she was unharmed.

Torquem and Ingrid went into a house.

It was a warm house, a lovely house.

Torquem surprised her with a pie and a room.

Ingrid would've stayed.

But she won't.

She tried to ask about the previous children, but Torquem wouldn't answer.

Torquem looked so sad to her.

Torquem warned her of the danger, but Ingrid wants the truth.

Torquem challenged her.

Through waves of flames Ingrid danced.

Through heated chains she dodged.

Torquem didn't want to hurt her.

But she had to stop her.

Ingrid only wanted to know the truth.

Torquem had no choice.

She can go out and find the truth.

She can never come back.

Through the doors and out the hall, Ingrid made it to the exit.

Flowey tells her that the truth won't free her.

Ingrid ignored his lie.

She leaves the Ruins.

She was greeted with snow when she stepped out through the ruin doors,

And danced in it.

Ingrid loved snow,

But not when she's dressed like she is.

Ingrid made her way through the forest and into the snow fields.

She met with new monsters, but there were monsters who chased her.

They say they need her Soul.

She won't let them.

Ingrid danced her way past the monsters,

deep, deep in the snowfields.

She ran into puzzles that she solved quickly,

and tried to talk to the monsters.

The monsters were determined to capture her,

but she managed to escape.

Ingrid soon reached a small town.

She was noticed.

Some monsters ran, others chased her.

She ran through the town, dodging grabs, spells, and weapons.

Ingrid has seen their looks.

They looked so desperate.

Ingrid ran through the snowstorm into a cave.

It was a watery place with many waterfalls and glittering stones on the wall.

She wandered alone in the cavern, but hears something behind her.

Fearing it was the monsters who chased her, she turned and kicked as hard as she could.

It wasn't.

It was only a tall young slime monster.

Ingrid was afraid it would talk, so...

She killed it.

Dust fell upon her like snow,

She didn't know what to do.

In her panic, she made a rash decision:

Ingrid had to hide her dusty tutu and her shoes.

Ingrid felt awful, but not as much as she was scared.

She had seen a sight so terrifying, she hid behind a waterfall.

A giant monster clad in black armor and cloth with chains scraping on its sides as it walked.

It was seeking her out.

Before she left the waterfall, Ingrid left her tutu behind.

She kept her shoes on to walk, but not for long.

She moved on further in the cavern, figured out the bridge puzzles and reaching a boardwalk.

A spear missed her.

Ingrid saw the armored monster standing at the end of the boardwalk as she rode on the raft.

It tried to hit her with its glowing spears.

She was lucky to have reached the other end before one struck her raft.

She ran just afterwards.

She kept running and running and running.

Running past monsters and dodging those who reached at her.

She didn't stop until she reached an dark area illuminated by glowing blue water.

Ingrid spotted her next hiding place.

She hid in a patch of tall grass to catch her breath and take her shoes off.

She stayed and watched the mist bubbles float by for a while.

She made a mistake of staying there long.

Ingrid was caught.

“And another”, an echoing voice from the monster said.

Another what? was Ingrid's thought.

“Another Soul brought to us”, it said.

“Yours is the third we need.”

The third?

Ingrid realized something soon.

The children before her died.

And she's next.

Ingrid pleaded with the monster to spare her.

But it paid no heed, for it saw the dust on her leotard.

Dust of a monster.

She had killed a few of its own.

Seeing this, Ingrid admitted to what she did.

She spoke the truth about killing a monster by accident.

She hoped that the monster would let her go.

The truth shall set her free, right?

Several spears to her body was the monster's answer.

It was a ruthless end for her.

Ingrid called out for someone to help her.

But only the armored monster was there with her

Before it took her and her Soul away.