Summers of Fire by Strader Linda;

Author:Strader, Linda;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: BIOGRAPHY and AUTOBIOGRAPHY / Fire and Emergency Services
Publisher: Bedazzled Ink Publishing
Published: 2018-03-08T05:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-FIVE

EARLY MORNING AT the trailhead had a bit of chill, but that wouldn’t last long. I strapped on my new pack, stuffed full, and secured six, one-quart canteens to its frame. Even though the weight wobbled my knees a bit, I reminded myself: There’s nothing worse than thirst. Good thing we’d be hiking downhill. After emerging from the shady forest, we followed steep switchbacks for two miles. I stopped for a water break, taking in the panoramic views of city, desert, and blue-hazed mountains, including the Santa Ritas. They tugged at my heart. Did anyone there miss me?

Bev found a perfect camping spot: shady, flat, and protected from wind, with few rocks and plenty of firewood. Although most outdoor lovers share a code of ethics not to steal (so I was assured), we hid our backpacks, just in case. Sans pack, I floated down the trail for the next few miles to our work start-point. Even with mild temperatures, the Arizona sun blazed high in a cloudless sky. I tied my bandana around my forehead to keep sweat from stinging my eyes. No chainsaws were allowed in wilderness areas, so I swung a Pulaski at the rubbery, resilient, manzanita stems growing into the tread.

Allowing time to hike back, we quit at four, and trudged uphill to camp. Our backpacks were right where we’d left them, and I went about setting up for the night. Easy to do. No need for a tent in this glorious weather.

“I’m going to clean up,” Bev said. “Coming?”

With a towel and biodegradable soap in hand, I joined her to bathe in a nearby creek. It was fun having a woman to share this with. We stripped down at the water’s edge, giggling and talking. Before opening the soap, I read the label for the first time: Warning: Not safe for use in rivers and lakes. Well, isn’t that just great.

I lowered one foot into the crystal clear water and shrieked. “It’s freezing! I want to be clean, but . . .”

“Just go for it!” Bev plunged in, screeching while splashing water over herself.

“The water’s fine, so come on in.”I’d heard that lie before. After the initial shock, teeth chattering, I bathed, probably breaking the world record. It was worth it though—every bone-chilling second. Exhilarated and refreshed, I also felt virtuous for not polluting the water with biodegradable, but not environmentally safe, camping soap.

The guys had built a fire to cook dinner while we bathed. Into a large pot went potatoes, assorted vegetables, and beans. “Stone Soup,”without the stone, of course. While it simmered, I rested my back against a tree to listen to rustling leaves, the low voices of my crew and birds twittering as they roosted for the night.

There wasn’t much talking while devouring our hard-earned feast. Mr. Sun slid below tree tops, and the dry mountain air cooled quickly. Sitting fireside, we spooked ourselves for a while with ghost stories, leaving enough daylight for me to start my book. I snuggled into my sleeping bag where my eyelids soon became heavy, the book dropping from my hands as I went comatose.

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