#Grizzly Creek Fire Action Plan

[a-supernatural-writer]

Wendigo Pt.1

Summary: The journey to find John leads the trio to Blackwater Ridge. Being with her boys bring back old memories from Isabeau’s childhood. There was a time when the boys got to be children.

Pairing: Eventual Sam X OC X Dean (polyamorous relationship)

Warnings: mentions of blood, language

Words: 4,659

*This work is also posted on other fanfiction sites*

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Isabeau’s face scrunched up, her eyes opening slightly. The open road was in front of her, her surroundings passing by as Dean drove the impala. She was in the front seat of the car, between Dean and Sam. Her head was laying on Dean’s shoulder, her cheek squished up against his leather jacket. 

She didn’t even remember falling asleep in the first place, but not sleeping for a couple of days finally caught up to her and exhaustion knocked her ass out. “Good morning sleeping beauty.” Dean playfully said, his hand squeezing her thigh where it’s been since the moment she fell asleep. 

Isabeau didn’t answer, her mind a little foggy, and eyesight a little blurry. Why the boys insist on her sitting in the front between them, she didn’t know. She only guessed it was because Sam wanted some comfort after the loss of Jessica and Dean, well, Dean only asked her to sit in the front if he needed support. Though he would never admit it. 

She tried to move away from Dean’s shoulder but an opposing weight on her other side prevented her from doing so. She glanced over, blinking slowly seeing that Sam was passed out on her shoulder. He was also holding onto her right hand tightly. 

The corner of Isabeau’s lip curled up. She was brought back to a time when the three of them were younger. 

June 21st, 1987

“Come on, Sam! Dean!” Little newly turned 5-year-old Isabeau runs down the little hill in the backyard of her house. At the bottom of the hill was a small lake, it’s surface reflecting the crescent moon in the night sky. 

A 4-year-old Sam giggles as he locks hands with Isabeau, the girl dragging him down to the edge of the lake. The two were stuck to each other like glue. The minute that John stopped by to wish Isabeau a happy birthday and drop off his sons, Sam never left Isabeau’s side. 

8-year-old Dean was close by the two, watching them and joining them in their antics in the backyard. His mind is void of any thoughts of his dad hunting instead of staying and celebrating Isabeau’s birthday. Dean was enjoying what fun he had when he stayed over at Isabeau’s. 

“Easy you three!” Isabeau’s father, Bartholmieu called out with a smile on his face. He was carrying four glass mason jars with holes poked through their metal tops. Bartholmieu reached the lake where the three waited by, throwing rocks into the water, seeing who could throw their rock the farthest. 

Bartholmieu handed each one of them their jar, leaving one for himself and gesturing the kids to open the jar. He crouches down to their height and points towards the field that surrounded the lake. “Now watch.” 

After a few seconds, hundreds of little yellow lights glowed in the fields, flying up from the grass and into the night air. Isabeau smiled. Fireflies. 

“Whoever can catch the most fireflies gets an extra slice of cake!” Bartholmieu declares a competition before jogging off into the field, Isabeau, Sam, and Dean running behind him, laughing and screaming in joy, each of them trying to catch the most fireflies. 

Isabeau looked away from Sam and groaned, closing her eyes back up, and shifting slightly to lay her head comfortably on Dean’s shoulder. “How long have I been asleep?” Isabeau asked. 

“About an hour. Sammy passed out not long after you. You both needed sleep.” Dean said. Isabeau smiled, taking her free hand, sliding it into Dean’s hand that was resting on her thigh. She squeezed it. “Thanks, Dearie.” 

Dean smiled and chuckled, squeezing back. Isabeau hardly ever used that nickname for Dean, so when she did, Dean cherished it. 

Sam suddenly jerks awake. Isabeau opens her eyes, lifting her head from Dean’s shoulder and looking at Sam, concerned. “Sam?”

Sam blinks, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. Dean glances over in concern. “You okay?” 

Sam glances over at Isabeau and Dean, squeezing Isabeau’s hand and then looking away. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

Isabeau rubbed her thumb back and forth over Sam’s hand. Sam wasn’t getting much sleep either.

Dean nods. “Another nightmare?” He asks. 

Sam clears his throat, not answering Dean. Isabeau knew that it was another nightmare, he kept on having them ever since Jess died and refused to fall asleep because of them. Isabeau took it upon herself to conduct aromatherapy on Sam, and in doing so led to many nights that she didn’t sleep because she was helping Sam. 

“You want to drive for a while?” Dean asks. Isabeau glanced over at Dean. He barely lets Isabeau drive, much less Sam. 

Sam laughs. “In your whole life, you never once asked me that.” 

“Just thought you might want to. Never mind.” Dean brushed off the offer. 

“Look, man, you’re worried about me. I get it and thank you, but I’m perfectly okay.” Sam says. 

“Mm-hmm. Thank Isabeau for that. She lost sleep helping you.” Dean countered. Isabeau slipped her hand out of both Dean’s and Sam’s hands, lightly slapping Dean’s shoulder. 

“Hey! If I lose sleep to help Sam, then I lose fucking sleep. He’s human, you’re human, I’m not. I can go for a couple of days without it.” Isabeau huffed out. She turned toward Sam who was staring at her with his puppy dog eyes. 

“You still need sleep, Isabeau.” Sam said softly. 

Isabeau groaned. “No puppy dog eyes. I’m weak for those. Besides, it gave me a chance to work on my aromatherapy. Haven’t done it in a long time.” 

Sam nodded, looking away and grabbing a map that was sitting on the dashboard. “All right,” He clears his throat. “Where are we?” 

“We are just outside of Grand Junction.” Dean answered. 

Sam folds the map of Colorado and has a large red ‘X’ labeled ‘35-111’. He sighs, “You know what? Maybe we shouldn’t have left Stanford so soon.” 

“Sam, we dug around there for a week. We came up with nothing. If you want to find the thing that killed Jessica…” Dean said. 

“We got to find dad first.” Sam finished. 

“Dad disappearing… And this thing showing up again after 20 years?” 

“It’s no coincidence.” Isabeau stated. Isabeau looked toward the road. None of this was settling right with her at all. The fire at Sam and Jess’s apartment, she couldn’t stop it, it kept ongoing. It reminded her of her fire, never-ending, nothing being able to put it out. Whatever this thing is, deep down, Isabeau was terrified to know. 

“Dad will have the answers. He’ll know what to do.” Dean said. 

“It’s weird, man. These coordinates he left us, this Blackwater Ridge…” Sam said, looking down at the map. 

Dean glanced over the map. “What about it?”

“There’s nothing there. It’s just woods.” Sam answers. Isabeau puts out her hand, and Sam hands her the map. “Why is he sending us to the middle of nowhere?” 

The three glance at each other, not knowing why they were going into the middle of the woods. Isabeau sighed, looking back at the road, the car driving by a sign that says, ‘Welcome to Lost Creek Colorado National Forest.’ 

Isabeau smirked to herself. Fire might have been her element, but she had a strong connection with nature. This could work in her favor. 

The three wind up at the “Ranger Station Lost Creek Trail, Lost Creek National Forest.” 

“So Blackwater Ridge is pretty remote.” Sam says as he looks over a 3D map of the national forest, paying attention to the ridge labeled ‘Blackwater Ridge’. Isabeau was flipping through some plant identification books that were focused on the area while Dean looked at the decorations. 

“It’s cut off by these canyons here, rough terrain, dense forest, abandoned silver and gold mines all over the place…” Sam explained further. 

“Dude, check out the size of this friggin’ bear.” Sam looks over. Dean was looking at a framed photo of a man standing behind a much larger bear. Isabeau looks up with a scowl as Sam stands next to Dean. 

“...And a dozen or more grizzlies in the area. It’s no nature hike, that’s for sure.” Sam says. Isabeau sets down her book and walks up to them, still frowning at the photo. “Horrible.” She whispers under her breath. 

Dean looks down at her, his brow furrowed. Before he could ask, a ranger walks up behind them. “You boys and girl aren’t planning on going out near Blackwater Ridge, by any chance?” The three whip around to look at the ranger. 

“Oh, no, sir. We’re environmental-study majors from U.C. Boulder, just working on a paper.” Sam laughs a little as Dean raises a fist. “Recycle, man.” 

“Bull.” The ranger says. 

Sam’s eyes flick over to Dean and Isabeau. Dean doesn’t move and Isabeau’s hand reaches down to play with her rosary. 

“You’re friends with that Haley girl, right?” He asks. 

Isabeau tilts her hand and considers it for a moment. “Yes. Yes, we are, Ranger…” Her eyes flicker down to his tag and gave a soft smile. “Wilkinson.” 

“Well, I will tell you exactly what I told her. Her brother filled out a backcountry permit saying he wouldn’t be back from Blackwater until the 24th. So it’s not exactly a missing persons now, is it?” Ranger Wilkinson explained. 

Dean shook his head. 

“Tell that girl to quit worrying. I’m sure her brother’s just fine.” Wilkinson said. 

“We will.” Isabeau answered. 

“Well, that Haley girl’s quite a pistol, huh?” Dean said with a smile. Isabeau rolled her eyes, shoving her hands in her jacket pockets. Sam noticed Isabeau’s actions and narrowed his eyes at her. 

“That is putting it mildly.” Wilkinson responds. 

“Actually, you know what would help is if I could show her a copy of that backcountry permit. You know, so she could see her brother’s return date.” Dean asks. 

Ranger Wilkinson eyes Dean and Dean raises his eyebrows. 

Dean, Sam, and Isabeau leave the ranger station. Dean is holding a piece of paper and laughing. “Yeah.” He folds up the paper.

“What, are you cruising for a hookup or something?” Sam asks. 

“What do you mean?” Dean asks. 

Isabeau sighs. “The coordinates point to Blackwater Ridge.” She said trying to get Dean’s mind off of a girl and back on the hunt. 

“So what are we waiting for? Let’s just go find dad.” Sam finishes for Isabeau. “I mean, why even talk to this girl?” 

Sam walks over to the passenger side of the impala, while Dean is on the driver’s side and Isabeau is next to Sam, ready to get in the backseat. 

“I don’t know, maybe we should know what we’re walking into before we actually walk into it?” Dean suggested. 

Dean pauses and looks at his brother. “What?” Sam slightly spreads his arms out. 

“Since when are you all “shoot first, ask questions later”, anyway?” Dean asks. 

“Since now.” Sam turns away and slides into the passenger seat. 

Dean smiles. “Oh, really?” He looks at Isabeau. She raises her hands in defense, “I just want to get this hunt done and over with.” Isabeau leaves the conversation like that and hops into the backseat. 

Dean knocks on the front door of the Collins house. A woman, presumably, Haley Collins, opens the door. 

“You must be Hailey Collins. I’m Dean, This is Sam and Isabeau. We’re rangers with the park service. Ranger Wilkinson sent us over. We wanted to ask you some questions about your brother Tommy.” Dean explained to Haley. 

Haley hesitates. “Let me see some I.D.” 

Isabeau smiles lightly, pulling out a fake ID with the name ‘Samantha Cole’ and holds it up against the screen door. “There you go.” 

Haley looks at the ID and then at Isabeau, who still has a smile on her face. Isabeau puts it away as Haly opens the door. “Come on in.” 

“Thanks.” Dean says. 

But before they could walk in, Haley notices the impala and looks at Isabeau. “That yours?” 

Isabeau’s smile slightly falters at Haley’s sudden eye contact but she can’t help but chuckle.  Sam looks at the impala as Dean stares in confusion at the two girls. 

“No, it’s his.” Isabeau jabs her thumb at Dean. 

Haley smiles at Isabeau, glancing at Dean then back to her. “Too bad, nice car.” Hailey turns to lead the three inside while Isabeau turns her head mouthing, ‘Oh my god’, to Sam and Dean before heading in after Haley. Dean’s jaw is slightly clenched while Sam rolls his eyes. Both brothers weren’t happy about the interaction between Isabeau and Hailey. Not one bit. 

Isabeau didn’t notice the brothers' reactions. Besides, if Dean wanted to shamelessly flirt with women, what’s wrong with her doing it when the women flirt with her first? 

They walked into the kitchen, Sam taking the lead for asking questions. “So, if Tommy’s not due back for a while, how do you know something’s wrong?” 

Haley comes back into the room with a bowl and places it on the table. “He checks in every day by cell. He emails photos, stupid little videos, but we haven’t heard anything in over three days now.” 

“Well, maybe he can’t get cell reception.��� Sam suggested. 

Haley shook her head. “He’s got a satellite phone, too.” 

“Could it be he’s just having fun and forgot to check in?” Dean asked. 

The boy, Ben, who was sitting at the table interjected. “He wouldn’t do that.” 

Dean eyes Ben and Ben looked away as Haley puts more food on the table. “Our parents are gone. It’s just my two brothers and me. We all keep pretty close tabs on each other.” Isabeau nodded, understanding. 

“Can I see the pictures he sent you?” Sam asks. 

Haley nods her head. “Yeah.” Haley grabs a laptop and sets it on the table, pulling up pictures. “That’s Tommy.” She clicks through photos and stops on a still frame of the beginning of a video. “This is his last message.” 

She starts the video of Tom. “Hey, Haley. Day six. We’re still out near Blackwater Ridge. We’re fine, keeping safe, so don’t worry, okay? Talk to you tomorrow.” Sam tilts his head as he spots a shadow flicking past and the video ends. 

“Well, we'll find your brother. We’re heading out to Blackwater Ridge first thing.” Dean says to Haley. 

“Then maybe I’ll see you there.” Haley says walking away. The three share a look. “Look, I can’t sit around here anymore, so I hired a guide. I’m heading out in the morning, and I’m gonna find Tommy myself.” 

“I think I know how you feel.” Dean said. Isabeau discreetly hooked her pinky around Dean’s finger. Dean looked over to Isabeau and she said nothing. It was her reaching out to Dean saying that she was there for him. She was going to help him no matter what. 

Isabeau glanced back over to Haley who stared straight back at her. “Hey, you mind forwarding these to me?” Sam asks, breaking their gaze. 

“Sure.” Haley answers.

Isabeau heard someone breaking a game of pool in the distance, and rock music blasting in the bar as they sat down at a table, Isabeau in her usual spot between the two brothers. 

“So, Blackwater Ridge doesn’t get a lot of traffic. Local campers mostly, but, still, this past April, two hikers went missing out there. They were never found.” Sam pulls out newspaper articles. 

“Any before that?” Dean asks. 

“Yeah. In 1982, eight different people all vanished in the same year. Authorities said it was a grizzly attack. And, again, in 1959, and again, before that, in 1936.” Isabeau pulls out Sam’s laptop from his bag and hands it to him. Sam nods at her and opens it up to Tommy’s video. 

“Every 23 years, just like clockwork. Okay, watch this.” Sam turns the laptop towards Dean and Isabeau. “Here’s the clincher. I downloaded that guy Tommy’s video to the laptop. Check this out.” 

Sam pulls up the video and goes through the frames of the video one at a time. A shadow crosses over the screen. 

Isabeau furrows her brow. Dean notices it too. “Do it again.” 

Sam repeats the frames. “That’s three frames, it’s a fraction of a second. Whatever that thing is, it can move.” 

Dean reaches over Isabeau to hit Sam’s arm triumphantly. “I told you something weird was going on.” 

“Yeah.” Sam closes his laptop. “I got one more thing.” Sam hands Isabeau another newspaper article. “In ‘59, one camper survived the supposed grizzly attack, just a kid. Barely crawled out of the woods alive.” 

“Is there a name?” Dean asks. 

Mr. Shaw talks to Sam, Dean, and Isabeau with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he leads them inside of his house. “Look, ranger, I don’t know why you’re asking me about this. It’s public record. I was a kid. My parents got mauled by a-” 

“Grizzly?” Sam interrupts. “That’s what attacked them?.” 

Mr. Shaw takes a puff of his cigarette, takes it out, and nods. 

“The other people that went missing that year, those bear attacks, too?” Dean steps forward. Mr. Shaw doesn’t answer. 

“What about all the people that went missing this year? Same thing?” Still nothing. 

Isabeau sighed, stepping up next to Dean. “Mr. Shaw, please. If we knew what we were dealing with, we might be able to stop it.” 

Mr. Shaw pulled his cigarette away. “I seriously doubt that. Anyways, I don’t see what difference it would make.” Mr. Shaw sits down. “You wouldn’t believe me. Nobody ever did.” 

“Mr. Shaw…” Sam comes to sit down across from Mr. Shaw. “...What did you see?” 

Mr. Shaw sighs. “Nothing. It moved too fast to see. It hid too well. I heard it, though. A roar… like no man or animal I ever heard.” 

“It came at night?” Sam asks. 

Mr. Shaw nodded.

“Got inside your tent?” 

“It got inside our cabin. I was sleeping in front of the fireplace when it came in. It didn’t smash a window or break the door. It unlocked it.” The three glanced away when they heard that. “Do you know of a bear that could do something like that? I didn’t even wake up until I heard my parents screaming.” 

“It killed them?” Sam asks. 

“Dragged them off into the night.” Mr.Shaw shakes his head. “Why it left me alive… I’ve been asking myself that ever since.” 

Mr.Shaw pauses and his hand goes to his collar. “It did leave me this, though.” He pushes away his collar to reveal three long scars, they were claw marks. Isabeau’s hand flies up to her mouth in surprise at the scars. Suddenly, flashes of shadows casting on cabin walls flickered in her vision, screams of a man and woman fill her ears. They left as soon as they came and Isabeau winced at the slight headache it gave her. Sam glanced over to Isabeau, seeing that her hand migrated to one of her temples and was massaging it. 

“There’s something evil in those woods. It was some sort of a demon.” 

The brothers and Isabeau walked down the corridor of the motel. “Spirits and demons don’t have to unlock doors. If they want inside, they just go through the walls.” 

“So it’s probably something else, something corporeal.” Sam suggested. 

“Corporeal? Excuse me, professor.” Dean mocks Sam’s choice of words. 

“Shut up. So, what do you think?” Sam asks the two of them. 

Isabeau shrugs, whatever she saw at Mr. Shaws wasn't enough to get a good look at whatever it was. “The claws, the speed that it moves… it could be a skinwalker, maybe a black dog, hell, maybe even a wendigo.” 

“Whatever we’re talking about, we’re talking about a creature, and it’s corporeal, which means we can kill it.” Dean turns to Isabeau. “What the hell happened in there?” 

Sam looks at Isabeau, wanting an explanation as well about what happened at Mr. Shaw’s. Isabeau sighed. “I don’t know. Looks like my ability to look into the past just doesn’t have to be activated by touch. Now it’s just seeing things and then flashes. Whatever happened it gave me a fucking headache.” 

Both brothers nodded. “Also, that comment back at the ranger station?” 

Isabeau raised a brow at Dean. He rolled his eyes. “About the bear?” 

Isabeau nodded. “Ah, well Dad taught me the idea of the ‘Wiccan Rede’. Even though we are, technically speaking, witches, Dad taught us to ‘harm none, and do what ye will’. Meaning hurting no living thing and we can do whatever magic we want. Though there were exceptions of course with hunting. But I’m against hurting any animals of any kind.” 

Isabeau shakes her head. “It’s just cruel.” She walks ahead of them. The brothers stared after her. 

“You knew that?” Dean asked Sam. 

Sam chuckled and gave a sad smile to Dean. “No offense Dean, but we don’t know a lot about Isabeau’s ways of being a witch. Yeah, she’s a fire elemental and makes fire do whatever the hell she wants, but all we know is the little things; her aromatherapy, simple tracking spells, her ability to move objects, and now this.” 

Both of them remained silent at the realization that outside of Isabeau using her powers for hunting, they didn’t really know about her craft. “I guess we better ask when this is over?” 

Sam nodded at Dean’s suggestion. “We may be her best friends Dean and grew up with her, but there’s a whole nother side to her that we might not know.” 

Dean opens the trunk of the impala, then the weapons box, and props it open with a shotgun like usual. He starts putting some guns in a duffle bag. Both Isabeau and Sam lean in on either side of him. 

“We cannot let that Haley girl go out there.” Sam says. 

“Oh yeah, what are gonna tell her? That she can’t go into the woods because of a big scary monster?” Dean asks. 

Sam nods. “Yeah.” 

Isabeau looks over to Sam. “Her brother’s missing, Sam. She’s not just gonna sit this out. Now we go with her, we protect her, and we keep our eyes peeled for our fuzzy predator friend.” Isabeau grabs one of her knives in the trunk and puts it in the duffel bag. 

Dean points a finger at her and nods at her words, picking up the duffel bag. 

“So finding Dad’s not enough?” Sam asks. Sam angrily slams the weapons box shut, then the trunk. “Now we got to babysit, too?” 

Dean says nothing but stares at Sam. “What?” 

Dean juts his head. “Nothing.” He throws the duffel bag at Sam and walks off. Sam stares after him and then turns back to Isabeau. 

“Isabeau…” Sam starts. 

Isabeau fists clench. “Sam, I don’t exactly like her coming either. But I know that you, Dean, or myself can stop her from going tomorrow. Hell, if I were in her shoes and it was my three little brothers, I’d probably raise hell and get rid of anyone who came in my way.” 

Isabeau sighed, stepping forward and placed a hand on his chest. “It’d be the same if you two went missing on me.” She patted his chest and walked after Dean. 

Sam watched her walk away. Isabeau would do anything to keep the people she loved safe. Sam could never be mad at her for that. Never. 

Isabeau leaned forward from the back seat as the impala pulled up to Ben, Haley, and another man along the trail. Dean stops the car and the three of them get out, closing the doors shut. 

“You guys got room for three more?” Dean asks. 

“Wait, you want to come with us?” Haley asks. Isabeau hands Sam the duffel bag and the three walk up to Haley. 

“Who are these guys?” The man behind Haley asks. 

Haley turns back. “Apparently, this is all the park service could muster up for the search and rescue.” 

Sam takes Isabeau’s hand and the two head past everyone. “You rangers?” The man asks. 

“That’s right.” Dean nods. 

“And you’re hiking out in biker boots and jeans?” Haley places her hands on her hips, giving Dean a look. 

Dean looks down at himself. “Well, sweetheart, I don’t do shorts.” Isabeau snorts at that comment and she and Sam turn back. Dean walks past Haley and towards the two. 

“Oh, you think this is funny? It’s dangerous back-country out there. Her brother might be hurt.” The man said. 

“Believe me, I know how dangerous it can be. We just want to help them find their brother. That’s all.” Dean responds. He heads past Sam and Isabeau. 

The group hikes through the forest, the man who they found out who’s name was Roy, leading them. Dean, Haley, Bean, Sam, and Isabeau bringing up the rear. Sam and Isabeau still held hands, Isabeau was looking around, her eyes scanning every tree, plant, basically anything living. 

Despite that they were on a search party, Isabeau was smiling at the world around her. The forest reminded her of the one back home that she would spend countless hours exploring. In a way, she felt at peace. Sam stole a few glances at Isabeau, he smiled a little seeing how happy she was. 

“Roy, you said you did a little hunting.” Dean asks ahead. 

“Yeah, more than a little.” Roy stated. 

“Uh-huh. What kind of furry critters do you hunt?” 

“Mostly buck. Sometimes bear.” Roy answered. Isabeau grimaced at his answer. 

Dean slightly passes Roy. “Tell me, uh, Bambi or Yogi ever hunt you back?” 

Roy abruptly grabs Dean and pulls him back. Sam and Isabeau look on. “What are you doing, Roy?” Isabeau tightly asked. 

Roy grabs a stick and pokes a bear trap that Dean had almost stepped in. Roy looks at Dean with a smug smirk. “You should watch where you’re stepping… Ranger.” Roy drops the stick and retakes the lead. 

Dean purses his lips and chuckles to Sam and Isabeau. “It’s a bear trap.” Isabeau rolls her eyes, slightly annoyed and amused at what happened. Haley and Ben walk behind Dean and Sam and Isabeau take their place back at the end. 

“You didn’t pack any provisions. You guys are carrying a duffel bag. You’re not rangers.” Haley reaches out and grabs Dean’s arm. “So who the hell are you?”

Ben goes past Haley and Dean. The two brothers share a look, Dean indicates that Sam’s good to go on by. Isabeau hesitates, looking at Dean. He nods to her as Sam drags Isabeau past the two. Dean watches them go for a moment. 

Dean exhales sharply. “Sam and I are brothers, Isabeau is a friend, and we’re looking for our father. He might be here. We don’t know. I just figured that you and me, we’re in the same boat.” 

“Why didn’t you just tell me that from the start?” Haley asks. 

“I’m telling you now. Besides, it’s probably the most honest I’ve ever been with a woman… that wasn’t Isabeau. So we okay?” Dean says. 

Haley pauses. “Yeah, okay.” 

“And what do you mean I didn’t pack provisions?” Dean asks. He turns over to Isabeau’s direction, she wasn’t too far up ahead. She let Sam go ahead as she waited for Dean. “Hey, Beau!” 

Isabeau turns toward him as he strides up to her. “Got my provisions?” Isabeau rolls her eyes as she pulls out a heavy bag of peanut m&m’s from her jacket pocket. “You mean our provisions. I bought these, moron.” 

Dean glares at her reaching into the bag and popping a few in his mouth. Isabeau jerked the bag away from him, smiling as she took a few herself. Haley waits a moment, watching the two bicker over the m&m’s, playfully pushing each other, fighting over the bag. She shook her head, following the two. 

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[steammaster]

Ready, Set, Go! Wildland Fire Action Plan

Ready, Set, Go! Wildland Fire Action Plan

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#Grizzly Creek Fire #Grizzly Creek Fire Action Plan #SteamMaster #steammaster learning series #Wildfire #Wildland fire

[blueanddeepblue]

10/30

In my dream, a giant grizzly has pressed his head into our tent and down onto my chest. His breath is deep and ragged and smells wild, except it's a dream, so there is no smell. Alexis knows something is wrong and calls my name from the sleeping bag next to me. I freeze and hold my breath, a few millimeters of flimsy tent fabric between me and the grizzly's muzzle, pressure building, hoping that my heart doesn't betray me. My heart pounds three times, and then I wake up. ----- Something about the American west denotes bigness and wildness. Weather changes in a breath. Plains stretch out endlessly, only to be hemmed in by bluish peaks even further out. In Wyoming we drive through arid desert arroyos, greenish-yellow hues rippling across the dull, brown gullies, only to climb quickly into mountains surrounded by pines and snow, the sky gone grey and the clouds obscuring the highway's next curve. Later in the same drive, we descend again to the plains, pronghorn stretched out in the grasses basking in sunshine. Fall here means rivulets of gold and red, oaks and maples that indicate hidden streams and trout-riddled rivers cutting through swatches of brown and yellow grasses. The drives are longer now. And the land itself implies reflection. The sky is big too, as they say, and the sunsets seem eternal in our westward push. Rock outcroppings jut out along ridges and at the edges of buttes, and the striated layers mark the passing of eons. The rock was here before man existed and will be long after man has gone. So too, the color of the world. In the Black Hills, Alexis and I look for mountain goats among the boulders. We climb to the highest point in South Dakota, a CCC built fire lookout called Harney Peak. A dam and small retention pond have been built nearby, which helped keep the lookout alive back when the tower was used for such purposes. The structure itself is made of rock and continues up along a sheer cliff face on one side. We push open the wooden door, and inside the wind is held at bay, exposing us to a quiet we didn't know was absent. A heavy steel ladder leads us to a narrow walkway surrounded by 360 degree views that stretch into Montana, Wyoming and Nebraska. The windows at the top are made of plastic, not glass, presumably because stronger winds will inevitably break these windows, and plastic is an easier replacement. Our teeth, our bones, behind the pits of our stomachs fire warning spasms, twinges of fear, the evolutionary hardwiring put in place to keep us from pushing our limits in high places, little bursts of adrenaline every time the wind rattles the tower's windows. I imagine the tower breaking away from the cliff face; I imagine us hurtling through nothing all the way to the flatlands east of the Black Hills. Or I imagine getting stuck in a tree halfway down. I'm not sure which is worse. But the tower holds. It is well built. Harney Peak Lookout tower is comprised of 7,000 surface stones; 15,000 hollow tiles; 200 tons of sand; 32,800 pounds of cement; 500 bricks; 500 pieces of reinforced steel, angle iron and other metal accouterment; 300 iron poles, averaging 25 feet in length; 20 kegs of nails; 1,000 feet of steel cable; 1,300 pounds of steel wire; and 800 feet of railroad track. I imagine the CCC boys from Dolan Camp, young and hopeful, working to overcome the Great Depression, climbing these steep slopes and blasting away rock here, boring into rock there - carving out a safe haven for someone they'd never know. I Imagine them being good Americans - sending part of their paycheck back home at the bequest of their country, for the good of their families. I imagine them being good Protestants and good Lutherans, quoting Psalms to one another before setting out for the day's work: Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea. I'm encouraged by their industriousness. I've hiked here and I look out as a conquerer, part of the same spirit, the same resoluteness that left such an indelible mark on the landscape. I munch on my Cliff Bar, victorious. But I'm not Protestant or Lutheran. Or anything for that matter. But maybe the Quran has it right: And they hewed their dwellings out of the mountains, feeling secure. But the shout seized them in the morning. And that which they had earned did not help them. ----- We drive up into Yellowstone through the snow. Once inside the park we see bison, bear, fox, and elk. The sunset lands on the tops of the mountains and they glow like embers from a neon fire. The sky dances purple and orange and the heavy grey of precipitation. The lake ripples a deep blue out where the wind blows the water into waves, and thin sheets of milky ice float in the shallow bays. We follow the road along the shoreline in awe. Gas and steam hiss from a crack in the earth. The lake and sky are a theatre of color and light; we are specks floating inside a terrarium of mountain and pine and snow and ice and water and cloud and light; we are the settling dust at the beginning of creation; we are fixtures in a miniature, insignificant pieces in a snow-globe shaken by some unseen hand. The earth is bigger and more defiant than we could ever know. Mystery issues forth from every crevice, peers out from behind the corners, stabs out in rays of light between the clouds. Alexis's little car behaves nobly on the snow and ice, guiding us to one of the three open campgrounds at Yellowstone. We find a spot and set up camp in the snow. We build a fire and warm ourselves. Our tent behaves nobly. And our sleeping bags too. We linger as long as we can, cocooned in warmth, before hunger spurs action. We make coffee and eggs, stamping our feet in the cold and trying to blow life into our hands. I've been to Yellowstone before a few times, but never in the cold. The earth is on fire. It smokes and churns and steams. We start at the geyser basin that includes Old Faithful. Alexis bubbles with the same excitement and wonder that she brings to all experiences, her eyes big and blue and beautiful, open and seeking; however, this is her first time to the park, so there is an added electricity, an additional burst of wonder that only a place as bizarre and other-worldly as Yellowstone can summon. There is no place quite like it. I understand, at least theoretically, how volcanic pressures create fissures in the earth, cracks that spew geysers, boiling pots of mud, or dark cavernous holes that spout steam, but to stand in front of Artist Paint Pots or to look down on Grand Prismatic Pool or to hear the roar from Black Dragon's Caldron…these things defy explanation. Experience is different than understanding. ----- We are funny creatures, us humans. We build a park and throw up signs that acknowledge change as the only constant; we erect placards to the previous times when the earth moved, when the geyser blew up unexpectedly, when the hillside gave way to pressure; we pay lip-service to the fact that someday the geyser will blow again, but we build lodges and visitor centers on the living earth and lay out boardwalks over the surface like we were meant to walk there. It's probably this same boldness that enables tourists to get out of their car and point their camera in the face of a bison. It's probably the same look of entitlement that washes over the face of a politician who's about to accept a bribe, that peculiar human trait that makes people think they're an exception to the rule, that helps them believe that they'll beat the odds. But so too, the mountains shall crumble into the sea. ----- I remember, as a kid, taking out the trash after dark had fallen. The dumpster was on the north side of our property, down a stone staircase and up a dirt driveway, maybe 100 hundred yards from the house. I had done this chore before, but something about the dark and having to turn my back on the accumulated clutter beneath the house made me wary. I ran the rest of the way, somehow both highly aware of everything around me while also afraid to look too closely into the darkness. We grow into fear. We wake one day to encounter it, to entertain the idea that the shadows hold something sinister. But in waking, we also encounter a world of mystery. We open our eyes to wonder. If we're careful, if we choose to move consciously, if we choose to look closely at the world around us. ----- In Yellowstone, Alexis and I abandon our plans to backpack. In some ways, this decision is weather related, although it warms up and the snow melts as the week wears on. In other ways, we don't quite feel comfortable in our preparation: our two-season tent, non-waterproof boots, our inexperience in grizzly country. Maybe fatigue is part of it as well. I've been camping and crashing at friend's for over two months now. Alexis and I have been on this journey longer than any of the tours that I went on during my stint as a professional musician, which is no easy feat. I continue to be amazed by the simple nature of our journey, where hardships, indecision, or disparate moods reveal themselves momentarily, only to become insignificant passages that we walk through together. This is a gift. In Montana we camp along Rock Creek. Most of the national forest campgrounds have closed for the season, but there are a few individual, roadside primitive spots left open and we set up for a few nights. Fly fishermen in waders occupy the creek's picturesque bends hoping to catch trout. Our site is nestled in close to the bank, and the constant gurgle of water over rocks both comforts and obscures. We build a fire and drink hot toddies and try to learn songs late into the night, or at least what passes as late when you've become accustomed to letting the sun set your schedule. In the morning, we wake cold and hike across Welcome Creek among the pines and over rock scree and in the quiet radiance that is summer's dying splendor - the grasses gone dry and the long-dead blooms of plants whose names I haven't learned, plants that twist and curl and delicately surrender to the changing of the season. We walk and talk loudly. We stay vigilant for bears. In the afternoon we play cards and warm ourselves in the sun. I set up the hammock and read. A bald eagle makes a pass along the creek. We gather firewood and organize it for the evening. These are moments of respite, easygoing and slow. At night, the sky stays clear, the Milky Way overhead, and at times I lean back from our conversation, from the beautifully whirling way that Alexis speaks, from the fire and the whiskey and the warmth, and I lean my head back and look straight up to see stars and galaxy and darkness in unison, and I think, "How lucky am I?". ----- What is this thread between fear and wonder? Where does it lead? Does fear exist without mystery? Does wonder? What does it feel like to be seized by a shout? So much of our lives are spent in routine, in the rituals that safeguard us from fear: the trips to the coffee shop, the radio DJ on the way home from work, the gym, the peck on the lips as you head out the door. But often we feel most alive when the ritual is interrupted: when the car careens from its lane and time slows to a crawl, when the morning kiss becomes a whirlwind. However, neither ritual, nor routine are the enemies of wakefulness, of living. Instead, I'm convinced that both the roadblock and the way forward exist within. Like a child, we must open our eyes and look in earnest. Can we observe without fear? Can we wonder in joy? Can we engage with the world around us with rapture and glee? Or maybe the child is a poor metaphor here, especially since a child looks to its elders as guideposts and soaks up their insecurities, their idiosyncrasies, their fears. Especially since a child can't articulate or share in the full experience of the world, but only observe, only look forward to joining the ranks of adulthood. Maybe we have to grow beyond innocence and become students of the world, looking and learning, testing out new ideas and asking questions that matter. Or maybe that's not right either. Don't we know that the accumulation of knowledge is also the accumulation of fear? The gathering of an ideology or worldview that, if broken and damaged, would also shake us to our core. Don't we know, that sometimes as students we purport to know the answers already? That we ask questions to make ourselves look good in the eyes of teachers? Colleagues? Don't we fear asking the wrong questions? Maybe all the metaphors are poor. From the self-same well spring fear and wonder, and we are merely passing through. Look. For in looking we see the world. Seek and ye shall find. But we won't find answers, or at least, we'll be sorely disappointed if answers are what we seek. Instead, look at the light on the hills. Look at the color in the cornfield. Listen for the woosh of eagle's wings. Smell the dank richness of rotting wood. Feel the strong embrace of a friend or shiver in the cold that lingers just beyond the fire. See how the rock stands poised on the cliff, defiant towards time and the law of gravity. Listen for the chickadee among the pines and hear how big the chipmunk sounds in the underbrush. And if the chipmunk emerges from the underbrush as a bear, snarling and charging, teeth ragged and neck bristled, then try to meet the bear's eyes with your own and see what rages in its depths. Brace yourself and look straight at it. Look to see if the mountains are indeed crumbling to the sea. Look at how lucky you are to be this close. Try to feel the earth, alive and hissing, beneath you. Try to smell the wildness on its breath. The blood in its fur. Then, goddammit, use your bear spray. ----- Thank you internet…Wikipededia for the metrics on Harney Peak Lookout tower Psalm 46:2 Surah Al-hijr 82-84

[thehikingviking]

McDonald Peak (9,820 ft), the High Point of the Mission Range

Laura Newman put me in contact with a guy named Jobe Wymore who was looking for a partner with whom to climb Mt Isto, the highest peak in the Brooks Range within the arctic circle in northern Alaska. While I was intrigued, the more I looked into it, the more I became hesitant about joining. Rather than completely bail on Jobe, I suggested that we try another peak first. We shared a mutual interest in McDonald Peak in Montana. I was interested because it is an ultra prominent peak and Jobe was interested because it is a western contiguous US county high point. This peak is known for lying within a grizzly bear conservation area, so I spent a lot of time recruiting other people to join. Since our trip was slated for the middle of July, which is prime hiking season, others already had plans elsewhere. The distance and elevation gain seemed manageable to do as a day hike, but as the trip inched closer, Jobe began to worry and requested that we do it as an overnight. I did not want to camp in grizzly country, but I also did not want to get stuck out on the mountain after dark in grizzly country. Over time the idea of an overnight trip grew on me. This would allow me to fish Duncan Lake and would give us an extra summit day from an advanced base camp if weather were to turn sour. I purchased Flathead Reservation camping and fishing permits online. The road to the trailhead was reported as questionable so Jobe offered to shuttle us in his Jeep over the last few miles. As the trip approached, the weather forecast was sunny and optimism was high.

Asaka and I landed at MSO on the evening before the climb. We picked up our rental car, which was a nice Ford Explorer, and drove to our motel. The next morning we had breakfast at a coffee shop where Asaka did some last minute studying. I watched a train transport several planes, which I thought was interesting.

I picked up some bear spray and water downtown. We then drove north where we planned to meet Jobe in St Ignatius, an Amish town. We decided to meet at the Mission General Store. Jobe was much younger than I expected. He told me there were three things we needed to know about him; he likes beer, hiking and The Grateful Dead. After lunch, we caravanned to the start of the rough road where I left the rental. The remaining road wasn’t very tough to follow and I probably could have made it in my rental car. We parked the car in the dirt lot at road’s end and followed the use trail along the ridge above Ashley Creek.

Jobe was confident that we wouldn’t have any issues with bears, claiming that in the United States there has never been a documented attack on a group of 3 or more people. I still kept an eye out as we followed the faint use trail up the ridge.

It was a lot warmer than I expected. There were no ticks, which we heard there were plenty of several weeks ago. We broke out of the forest into a burn area. There were many downed logs we had to step over. Jobe taught us about bear grass, and how cumbersome they can make a hike.

Sheep Peak stood above us. I wondered if it would be easier to climb up and over the peak rather than do the relentless side hill.

As the trail disappeared we began to follow flagging as our side hill began.

Even the unnamed peaks here are impressive.

The side hill was every bit as tedious as described, and doing it with a heavy pack made it even more brutal. The bear grass was extremely slippery and it was hard to get a good footing. After slipping and falling, I used more caution and slowed my pace.

There were some cliff section we had to avoid. We had to climb up or down in elevation to find the weaknesses in the rock bands. Vegetable belays were sometimes necessary.

Ashley Lakes appeared below, reminding me of the Devil’s Pulpit on Bear Mountain in California. Previous reports advised strongly against following the trail to Ashley Lakes and climbing up due to a nasty bushwhack, however the never ending side hill couldn’t have been much better.

Progress was very slow. I just kept looking forward to the treeline, hoping that things would get better once off the bear grass. Jobe thought he spotted a reddish bear in the distance, but it never moved.

There was a brief rocky section which was a much needed respite. 

Reaching the forest marked a much anticipated checkpoint. I thought the hard part was over once across the open section, but I was sadly mistaken.

There was a very short segment of trail that appeared, but then it was back to more side hilling, except rather than maintain our elevation, this time we also had to climb a few hundred feet.

I was exhausted for the last quarter mile to the lake. Even though the distance and elevation gain wasn’t that much, I was using a set of muscles that never get used to that extent. We were rewarded with the breathtaking view of Duncan Lake.

As we scouted the water’s edge for our camp, Jobe excitedly proclaimed that there were no grizzlies in the area. There was mountain goat fur stuck to various nearby trees, and he claimed that mountain goats do not hang out in grizzly bear areas.

At this point, I wanted to believe him, so I joked along. I pulled out my Tenkara rod and tried fishing Duncan Lake, but I had no action and didn’t see any fish rings. The water looked a bit swampy for being in such a pristine location. The only activity on the lake was a lone duck. I quickly gave up on fishing and turned my attention to making a fire. I told Asaka that we should cook dinner away from camp, but we were tired and didn’t want to move. Sure enough, Asaka spilled sauce on the rock right next to our tent. Dope! We ate dinner watching the miraculous alpenglow. 

I had service at the lake, so I was able to check the latest weather forecast, which predicted mostly sunny and 0% chance of precipitation. We were only two miles away from the summit, so success was almost guaranteed.

No bears came through camp that night. We left for the peak a little after 6am. We crossed the outlet of Duncan Lake and headed southeast.

I led a convoluted path up, around and down over some rocky knoll. I was off to a bad start. We hiked through a small gap and contoured towards the south side of McDonald Peak.

Our first obstacle was an icy snowfield. We managed to walk across this without putting on our crampons.

While we tried to maintain our elevation, a series of rocky ledges forced us to down climb a couple times. The strain on my feet made me realized that we were still side hilling. When would the side hill finally end?

There was water everywhere throughout the canyon. It was such a beautiful place.

We scrambled up the creek until McDonald Peak was finally visible. We followed a series of ledges towards the base of the snow field. Asaka didn’t feel like carrying her bear spray, so she left it on an open ledge.

The weather above us appeared threatening. I pulled out my phone again and the forecast still showed mostly sunny with 0% chance of precipitation.

We reached the base of the snowfield where we put on our crampons. Jobe took the lead here while I stayed back to help Asaka.

We followed Jobe’s footsteps. Asaka did not have a flat enough sole on her boot, so her crampons kept falling off on the climb. This issue allowed Jobe to take a huge lead ahead of us. He was laser focused on getting his western contiguous county high point. To minimize the impact of Asaka’s failing crampons, we got off the snow prematurely and made our way up the rocks.

The rock was loose and progress was slow. I started to doubt my weather forecast as the western skies continued to get darker and darker. Rumbling in the distance started to worry me.

We spotted Jobe atop the summit. He passed us on his way down, gave us some words of encouragement and informed us he would wait at the bottom of the snowfield.

A few minutes later we made it to the summit. To the west was Sheep’s Head.

To the north was Mt Calowahcan.

Asaka approached on the ridgeline to the east.

To the southeast were Icefloe Peak and Glacier Peaks.

To the southwest was Kakashe Mountain.

We watched Jobe as he made his way down the rocky section.

The cliff on the north side of the peak dropped over a thousand feet.

The weather continued to deteriorate so we set off to join Jobe down below. I tried to glissade down the snowfield however it was too icy. I clumsily made it down the snow field but Asaka did not feel as confident. We shouted at each other across the snow field until she decided to follow the rocks down instead. I waited with Jobe, expecting him to become impatient, however he was all smiles. He only had 10 more western contiguous county high points left. While we tried to retrace our steps back, we somehow ended up on another ledge and we couldn’t find Asaka’s bear spray. Hopefully someone else finds this and it doesn’t become litter.

It started to rain once we reached the creek. So much for 0% chance of precipitation. I didn’t bring my rain jacket and got thoroughly soaked. I checked the forecast once more and it hadn’t changed. I’m glad we got off the summit when we did.

We spotted a marmot hanging out on some boulders.

The remaining walk to camp was a wet one.

The weather cleared up as we approached Duncan Lake. Our camp was soaked so we spread out everything hoping that the sun would stay out long enough for the gear to dry. I passed time by jumping into Duncan Lake.

Clouds threatened but it didn’t rain again for the rest of the day. We noticed several climbers on the ridgeline between Sheep’s Head and West McDonald Peak. We joked that it was probably Kerry Breen and Dean Gaudet. I still have no idea what people could have been doing there. We packed everything up and began our hike back to the car. Jobe was excited to find some Puffball Mushrooms on the way. 

We understood the next few hours would be rough, so we sucked it up and marched forward.

The side hill ended up being easy on the way back. The cliff bands still posed a challenge, but after some patient route finding we got through. I took another hard fall along the way, but damage was superficial. I was relieved to make it back to the flagging.

We followed the ridgeline back down towards the use trail. I noticed some bear fur stuck to a twig. Maybe there are bears here after all.

We lost the trail several times over the last mile. We found ourselves hiking along an overgrown logging road. I corrected our mistakes using my pre-loaded GPS track. The heat was starting to get to me, and I requested that we rest several times in the shade. Since I had service, I booked a hotel for the night in Pinnacle. I was especially relieved to finally reach the car. We hopped in the jeep, drank a beer and listened to The Grateful Dead all the way back out to my rental. We stopped for an early dinner at Post Creek 44 Bar Steak and Tap House. Jobe enjoyed his vegan burger while I chomped on my beef burger.

The next day Asaka and I did the tourist thing and drove through Glacier National Park.

I stopped a few places to fish but I had no luck.

The next morning we drove up Desert Mountain, a P2k just outside of Glacier National Park.

Great Northern Mountain caught my attention.

The high peaks of Glacier National Park were also visible.

This trip made me fall further in love with Montana, and little did I know I would go back a little more than a month later.