Chapter 66: Inseparable

Nash

The access road to the trail head for the Devil’s Den was still closed due to the spring mud, and even some lingering snow and ice at higher elevations, but I used the four-wheel drive in my Jeep to ease around the barricade and slowly climb up the mountain side, following the tracks left by some four-wheelers. I drove until the mud became thicker, and getting the Jeep stuck was became a real possibility. I parked it in an area that was still fairly firm and solid, grabbed my backpack and the map, and started on foot. I followed the dirt road and did my best not to leave footprints behind, but it was nearly impossible as my boots squelched in the mud underfoot.

Devil’s Den, much like the small caves that Daphne had described to me on the other trail, was a small natural cave that occurred in the rough face of an undercut mountain side. According to my research, the area had attracted some mineral collecting groups back in the 80s because of some quarts crystal specimens that were found there.

I came to the spot where the trail should have started, and found… Nothing.

There was no sign. No trail. I double checked the map against the compass in my pocket. I could see there was a clearing where cars might have been able to pull off and park at one time, but it was grown up with striped maples and brush.

The Forest Service had removed the trail, probably a couple of years ago. Who knew the reason why? Maybe they wanted to discourage people from scavenging for crystals, or maybe the natural attraction had become dangerous and unstable. I checked my phone for the time, and noted that it had no service, as was expected. I stuffed it back in my pocket and started picking my way through the woods. Although the trail hadn’t been maintained, here and there I could still detect where the trail had been worn into the mountain.

When I came to the first stream crossing, I realized that even the bridges had been removed. I could see the even spots on either side of the bank where a primitive wooden bridge had been built, but the structure was gone, deliberately removed. The stream itself was running high with the spring snow melt, but it was no more than a couple feet deep at best. There were enough boulders poking above the water line that I could hop-scotch my way over without getting my boots wet.

One the far bank I spotted the print. It was a bear, no doubt, the five pads were punctuated by five slashing claw marks as it had climbed its way out of the river and had fought for a foothold on the muddy bank. I leaned down and photographed it with my phone, and then, for good measure, I compared it to the size of my hand.

I have big hands, but the bear print was bigger, much bigger.

It wasn’t fresh, but it wasn’t old either. I was no expert tracker, but I guessed it couldn’t be more than a few days since the bear passed that way. The question in my mind was whether or not it was the same bear that was ripping apart students, or if I had just stumbled upon any old bear in a mountain range that was known to be black bear territory.

And just because the animal had chose the old bridge site as a convienant place to cross the stream didn’t necessarily mean it was headed for the cave. It might have just been following the old trail because it was the path of least resistance through the forest. Even in the early spring, with foliage just starting to bud, the undergrowth on either side of the trail was thick and thorny.

There would be a mess of wild blackberries in the summer time.

Bears love blackberries.

I continued pressing on, even though the light was waning. I didn’t question the wisdom of being out in the deep woods at night, with the temperature rapidly dropping and a mad bear on the prowl. I just pressed forward. When I could no longer make out the trail, I pulled out a pair of night vision goggles and strapped them over my head.

The landscape became hues of green, as the goggles used the ambient light from the moon and stars to illuminate the surrounding forest. It wasn’t perfect, but it allowed me to continue moving without pulling out a flashlight. If the bear was actually in the cave, I wouldn’t want to announce my arrival with a beam of light.

As I drew closer to the face of the mountain, the terrain grew slippery and wet. The path was strewn with moss-covered rocks, and everything was soaked with something like a perpetual mist that clung to the ground. Dripping and trickling sounds filled the crisp, cold evening air, helping to disguise the sound of my footfalls as I carefully picked my way around the slimy rocks. I kept my eyes on the ground, looking for more prints, more signs, but it was hard to tell. Was that moss scraped away? Was that a mark in the mud? Had that branch been broken?

I had never been to the Devil's Den cave before, but as I examined the rock face, I realized the entrance was not at ground level. The jagged, narrow opening was located about fifteen feet up the side of the hill, a black, irregular rectangle in my green field of vision. I also realized there was a primitive ladder made from some reclaimed lumber and tree branches lashed together with what appeared to be old bailing twine.

I was very sure that the Forest Service hadn’t left that rickety thing leaning against the rocks. Some intrepid explorers maybe?

Or something else?

I crouched and watched the entrance for a long time, waiting for any movement, straining my ears for any sound from the hollow above. I debated if that ladder could actually hold my weight so that I could climb up.

Water dripped down the side of the mountain face, in some places it flowed freely like there were springs somewhere above. I realized that this was a wet place. It was probably damp year-round, and wouldn’t be a very comfortable place for an animal to shelter. I wished I had brought my thermal imaging gear. It would have been very convenient if I could detect a heat signature from the cave above.

Finally, I decided to risk leaving the cover I had found, and approaching the ladder. I examined the workmanship. It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t that old either, as the baling twine had not yet started to rot.

A bear wouldn’t need a ladder, I thought, as I stepped on to the first rung to test it against my weight. When the first one held, I started to ascend, keeping a good hold on the poles, just in case the foot-holds broke under my weight. It wasn’t far to climb, but I didn’t relish sliding down those wet, jagged rocks.

As my head cleared the bottom ledge, I paused, and waited, listening again. My night vision goggles couldn’t penetrate much beyond the mouth of the cave. However, everything remained silent. There was no sound of movement, no scratching or scuffling.

I pulled myself over the ledge and pulled my powerful flashlight from the pack. I switched it on, pointing the beam into the narrow opening, which was barely wide enough for a man to pass through without turning sideways. It cut back into the rock face, just an accidental fissure created by the ancient movement of the glaciers through the passes. It only went back about fifteen feet, widening slightly.

As I predicted, it was damp. Water dripped down the inner walls, and everything seemed to glisten with moisture, floor to ceiling. It smelled of damp earth and moss. Here and there my beam of light reflected brightly off from veins of quartz in the rock. And there, in the back, half hidden behind a sharp bit of boulder, was something black and shiny.

I ducked down and crept forward, feeling uneasy as I left the entrance and ventured deeper. I didn’t feel comfortable having my back to the only exit, even though it would be almost impossible for anyone to get the drop on me, fifteen feet up.

I held the flashlight with one hand, and grasped the edge of a black plastic garbage bag with the other, and eased it out from behind the rock. Whatever was inside it was dense and heavy. I untied the top of the sack and revealed the contents. A gallon of water, still sealed. A ziplock baggie with a butane lighter, a roll of silver ductape, and a family-sized bag of M&M candies tucked inside. And lastly, a faded man’s sweatshirt with the university’s mascot of a Roman soldier emblazened on the front.

I sighed in disappointment and put the items back in the bag. It was nothing, probably just some college kid who came out here to escape from the rigors of student life from time to time, and didn’t want the burden of carrying in a heavy jug of water every time. I put the bag back behind the jutting rock, just as I had found it, and crouched down to get out of the cave. I put the flashlight back in my pack and pulled the night vision goggles back into place on my face.

As I stepped onto the ladder, first one foot, and then the other, a crooked tree-branch rung snapped under my boot. The cracking sound seemed to echo off the mountainside like a gun shot.

Off in the bushes, about a hundred yards off, I heard a rustle in the brush, like the sound had disturbed a sleeping animal.

I tensed, gripping the sides of the ladder, and tried to see through the green, ghostly shapes of the trees for any sign of movement. I could see nothing, and only the sounds of dripping water filled my ears.