Forest Fires

It was warm for the first time this year.

It was the first time this year I heard the songs of a bird; it was the first time this year there was animate life outside of myself. It was already beautifully intoxicating. I stand up and stretch, bones in my back popping like the crushing of a potato chip. The breeze blew on my bare skin. My legs, my arms, my face, and part of my stomach all felt that wonderful feeling of spring.

I looked up, the sun wasn’t visible from the forest floor, but it was providing colors to the brightening sky. I look back down at my stuff or lack thereof. My bag was leaned up against a tree stump, my sleeping bag on the floor, and an old field snack lay open on the stump. I bend down and roll up my sleeping bag, stuffing it nicely into the top of my bag. I pulled my water bottle from the side of my bag, only to find it was empty. I then looked down at myself, my shoes were muddy, my tank top was dirty, and my skin was still dry from the harsh, icy weather.

I head down to Whiplash River and do all the daily things. Filtering out drinking water came first. Since my, incredibly old, filter takes a while to filter, I continue. I change out of my dirty outer clothing. I brush my ginger hair and jump in. It’s the number 1 way to get hypothermia, but I’ve been out here too long to care. I’ve seen worse.

I periodically filled the filter with water until the bottle was full. The river moves calmly in this area, which I like. There were fish that rubbed up against my legs, seaweed, loose pebbles along the floor. But I don’t mind. It was just something I learned to live with. I finish in the river and quickly change into a cleaner tee shirt and cargo shorts. I dampen the clothes I was wearing this morning, scrub them, and leave them be for a while to dry in the sun. The sun was higher up in the sky. The colors from the sunrise had almost disappeared, leaving the blue, cloudless sky up above.

My clothes dry within the hour. I pack up, again, and hit the trail. I shoved my neatly folded map into my back pocket with my compass. I carry nothing in my hands, instead, they rest on the straps of my backpack. I want to hold something, but I don’t want to drop anything. Everything I had, I needed. And there wasn’t anywhere to get them nearby if I needed them.

Every year, I’m reminded why I stay here. Every year, new life buds form on the trees, in bird nests, in the hollows of trees, on the forest floor. In the sky. There was the music of new leaves dancing above me. There was music in the birds learning to sing age-old songs. In the squirrels that chattered about the winters passing; and there was music in the rocks I kick, the stones that break, the crunching of dead twigs, and the remaining leaves on the forest floor.

Quickly, I divert off the trails. Wandering was my favorite thing to do. There was no way I could guarantee a way to turn back, other than to turn around. The trees created a dark maze, only letting certain blotches of sun peek through at a time. When there was no clear path, there was no way to get lost. There was no right way to turn, or right way to run, or right way to fall and soak up my surroundings.

It was roughly 7:30 pm. The sun started to set on my right, burning it. I was tired and ready to take a break. I saw a distant trail. A sign, bright blue and white. I seldom see signs other than the every-mile markers that lined the path endlessly. I speed up, getting up the steep hill the first time. Tower Eight: - 0.5 miles north it read. I look towards my left, a lookout tower in the near distance.

It sat on a little hill, with a staircase built into the side, winding up into the hill until the staircase reverted to winding around the building. The place looked beautiful. Like someone had been residing here in the earlier season. I walk up the trail towards the tower. Up the stairs, the millions of steps I felt I had walked before reaching the top.

The inside wasn’t as pleasing. There was a cheap, dirty mattress and wood framing. There was a wooden desk and a wooden chair. There was a small counter in the middle of the room, with a map covered in resin over the surface. As I walked, the floorboards creaked. I slid my finger over the table, which revealed a small layer of dust on the table. There was also a counter lining the wall with the door, with 2 sets of cabinets. The windows were semi-opaque, and it felt like spiders were crawling out of every corner of the room. It was larger than a normal tower. With plenty of space to stretch out and be messy. A lot of space to relax.

I sit on the mattress. It creaked loudly, revealing its age immediately. I looked out the window, and there was everything. There was a circle of tree-less land surrounding the tower, but there was a clear view of the horizon. I never really get to see that. I see the sunset every day, and it never looked this pretty.

I slid my bag off my shoulders and onto the floor, it dropped with a loud thud and creak. God, this place is old. I shut the door, the window also old and crusted over. I turn right back around and face plant onto the bed. The mattress bounced and creaked rhythmically until they both got tired of playing for me. I lay there for a minute, thinking about how grateful my back and neck would be for a mattress and pillow to sleep on.

I fell to my knees and sat up, then stood up. I inch towards the desk close away. There was a set of drawers on either side of it. The wood that was used to make the handles, and the body didn’t match at all. I open the top drawer. Nothing. Neither did the middle one. The bottom one held a set of notebooks. I crack the top one open.

James Archer, May 18th, 1989.

I am not the type of person to write, I never had a strong creative sense or instinct. However, it’s my first day out here, and I know I’ll be bored out of my mind. So, I thought I would try to write. Not anything fancy, or fictional, just realism. The thoughts that occur, the animals I see, paranormal activity, whatever my head thinks, and my heart desires. Although I’m no good at this, I have always wanted to leave my mark on the world. So, to any fire lookout reading this, I have left my mark. However, I do ask you a favor. Since you’re out here, will you write, too? No reason not to unless you’re writing for yourself. Anyway, I hope my writings bring you joy!

Sincerely, James Archer

I quickly looked through the pages to see if anyone actually carried out his request. May 20th, June 21st, July 4th, August 15th, September 8th, October 19th, May 15th. The dates in the corner flashed before my eyes. The handwriting on the page changed from a heavy-handed print to a dainty, half-cursive writing. This was one of the last pages of the book. For someone who wasn’t a writer, he wrote a lot. An almost 200-page notebook, filled with the thoughts of a single person. How does someone think this much?

I turn the one page to the backside, to the last page of his writing. There was nothing but a phone number. “509-123-7239” it read. Nothing was special about it. It was probably his number at some point. Although, the handwriting was hazy, and the page had crimped spots scattered across it. Wonder where James is today? I thought to myself.

It was dark, so I shut the book and put them back in the drawer, in the same way I found it. I stood back up and looked out the window. The crescent moon was now a prominent light source in the sky, with purple and deep oranges lining the horizon. The was a little sliver, but it would do. Sometimes, I wished I had a watch, but I hated wearing them. I knelt next to the next set of drawers. Nothing was in the first one. The second one had a battery-powered walkie-talkie and some non-perishables. Mostly granola bars and freeze-dried strawberries. The third one had a gun. I pick it up and examine it. It’s just the gun. No ammo, no magazine, just the gun. A small hand-held pistol that looked to hold maybe 10 bullets.

I put it back where it was, it would be no use to me. I shut the drawer, then took a few steps towards the counter against the wall. To my surprise, there were cleaning supplies in the right one, which shocked me. In the left one, there were a a few tubs of off-brand tubs of coffee, a coffee maker, and mounds of all types of non-perishables. Granola bars, an assortment of freeze-dried fruits, a few cereal boxes, and plenty of cans of soup. I shut all the cabinet doors and stretched for a second.

I stand up head toward my bag, pulling out my flashlight. I quickly check if it’s working and head outside. I opened the door, and an immediate gust of frigid air hit me like a school bus. I slammed the door shut and turned around. I knelt next to my bag and scoured for my jacket. Putting everything I pulled out in an ever-growing pile to my left. Eventually, I reached for my neatly folded jacket and threw it on. It was my favorite jacket for a long time. It was brown and had a suede texture on the inside. I throw it on, pick up the flashlight, and try again. Much better!

I quickly shuffle down the stairs as I click the flashlight on. The wooden boards creaked with the sudden thud of my foot hitting the steps. I jump off a few steps before the bottom. For fun! I land and look ahead. I quickly turned, looking for some sort of shed until I locked onto the dark wood doors. I skipped, almost ran, towards it. Why was I so ecstatic over a shed? I almost ran into the doors. I prop the flashlight in between my lips as I opened the two doors. There were neat stacks of a lot of things lining the floors. There were stacks of even more food, a stack of CDs, and more toward the corners that the flashlight was too small to illuminate.

I step into the shed and hear a squish under my foot. I turn it up to see the corpse of a rat painting the soles of my shoe. I wipe them off on the floor and scan for any more bodies. There weren’t anymore. I kept looking around the shed. There were more CDs, some workout equipment in the corner, a few boxes labeled “clothing”, and some handy tools on top of a box. I crack open the pack. There were all the standard tools. Hammer, screwdrivers of all sizes, wrenches, sockets, and a few bags of screws. There were about a dozen small boxes labeled “clay” and just too many cd’s. The tops were some obscure album covers I didn’t recognize. Although, the quality of each photo showed the era loud and clear.

I turn back around and stare at the toolbox for a couple of seconds. I snatch the hammer and quickly walk out, shutting the doors behind me. I used a stick to keep the doors together and went back up to the tower. I bolt up the stairs and swing myself around each corner until I get to the top. I locked the door behind me when I got inside. I look through the pile and find my sleeping bag. I unfold and unzip it to become more of a blanket. I lie down and watch the moon, and stars orbit the sky until I fell asleep.