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thehikingviking · 2 years

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Raymond Peak and The Sinister from Wet Meadows Reservoir

Chad and I planned to hike a peak on the Tahoe Ogul list. He was pushing for Snow Mountain, but I did not like that option because it was too difficult of a peak. I have a rule that I must hike every Ogul peak with my wife Asaka, and now that she was 6 months pregnant, it seemed cruel to bring her on a long bushwhack. We instead settled on Raymond Peak, which ended up being a wonderful choice. In addition to Asaka, I invited Brian and in parallel Chad invited Ian and Mia, the dog. We arrived just after sunset and found a flat spot to set up camp a few miles from the trailhead. We built a fire and had a pre-celebration, as this would be Chad’s Ogul list finish. Asaka and I retired to the back of the Jeep after 11pm, but the others would hoot and holler well past midnight. We agreed that the hike was easy enough, so there would be no rush the following day.

Beams of sunlight woke us up the next morning. Asaka prepared cereal and I methodically repacked the car. We drove a short distance further along unmapped dirt roads to the trailhead, just beyond Wet Meadows Reservoir. I had not read about the road conditions leading up to the trip, and I’m thankful we chose to bring my Jeep instead of Brian’s Tesla. The road definitely requires high clearance, and most likely 4WD as well. A short spur trail leads through the forest, across a small creek, and connects with the PCT.

Scarlet Gilia sprinkled the ground. The wildflowers were in season.

We passed a few PCT through hikers from the get go. I told Brian that they were walking to Canada. He seemed curious to know how I could make sure a confident declaration. The time of year, location and the gear was a dead giveaway.

Jeff Davis Peak stood to the north. This was the last hike we had done with Brian.

We dropped into another creek drainage, ending the easy downhill section. Forget-me-nots lined the trail as we emerged from the forest.

At the first switch back, we paused for a photo opportunity with Pleasant Valley in the background. The Tamarack Fire had scorched the entire area just a year ago, however it appears that the wilderness is recovering quite well.

Thornburg Peak stood across the valley.

Mia was probably the best tempered dog I’ve ever hiked with. With her size and coloring, I could see how other hikers might mistake her for a bear. She stopped at the creek for a sip of water.

We passed many through hikers as we wrapped around the mountain. I hope they find whatever it is they are looking for. This will be a heroes journey for many. To me the idea of walking for so long seems kind of boring.

Wyoming Indian Paintbrush covered the drier eastern slopes of the peak. Wyoming's state flower is probably my favorite paintbrush.

We took a right at the junction, leaving the PCT. I felt relieved to get away from the crowds. The trail we were on led to Raymond Lake. With a quarter mile remaining to the lake, Asaka and I left the trail and began heading up the northeastern slopes of Raymond Peak. The others planned to check out the lake and meet us later on. It was a bit warm, so I tried to hike uphill in the shade as much as I could. It was very steep, but the cross country was easy. There were few downed trees and the slope was covered in dirt instead of loose rocks. For a while I carried Asaka’s backpack to make the climb easier for her. After a thousand feet of climbing we heard the other’s voices and connected back with them shortly after.

The Sinister, a possible bonus peak, looked very intimidating to our west.

The route became more interesting as we approached the top. A use trail emerged that cut underneath the north side of the rocky face in front of us.

We wrapped around to the northwestern side of the peak and made our final push.

There were two high points, and it was not clear which was the summit. We visited the south summit first. To the southeast were Silver Peak and Highland Peak.

To the southwest were Mt Reynolds and Peep Sight Peak.

To the west were The Sinister and Mokelumne Peak.

I then walked to the north summit. To the northwest were Round Top, Elephants Back, Red Lake Peak and Stevens Peak.

To the northeast were Raymond Peak, Thornburg Peak and Carson Valley.

To the east were the Pine Nut Mountains and Nevada.

I found a register on the north summit, so I waved at the others to come over.

We signed the register and had lunch. Asaka prepared some fresh sandwiches. Life was good.

I asked Asaka if I could go climb the bonus peak, and she seemed okay with it, so long as I didn’t make her wait by the car. I gave her my car keys, even though I suspected that I might even beat her back to the car. Brian and Ian quickly bowed out, but I fully expected Chad to join me. I started making my way west along the ridge and soon realized that Chad wasn’t coming. I was on my own. This was okay because it allowed me to go super fast. I tried to stay along the top of the connecting ridgeline, but saw the route would be better if I aimed for a forested area just north of the ridgeline. The ridge was very serrated and would not have been fun to follow. I flew down the mountainside in a somewhat out of control manner. There was loose rock underfoot and a couple sections of class 3 on the way. The terrain became easier once I entered the forest.

I hit the low point of my traverse then continued towards the knuckle-looking peak. I passed by a couple grouse along the way. I started to feel the temperature again on the uphill section as there was less shade. I walked onto an alpine meadow just below the peak.

Looking back was Raymond Peak.

I aimed for the right side of the peak. A water trickle was coming down from the rocks above. The volcanic rock must act as a sponge and lowly release water.

I first went to the north side of the peak, but saw only vertical walls in front of me. I then went back to the eastern side. I crossed the top of a small snow patch, but found nothing but overhanging rocks above. I back tracked again to the northeast side of the rock and found a potential weakness. This looked familiar to a trip report which I had read years ago.

The chute had a small trickle of water coming down, but this did little to effect the scrambling. I emerged above the snowfield on the eastern facing side of the wall. There were two main chutes in front of me. I first climbed up the right one but was met with difficult climbing. I tried to go further right initially, but I was entering class 5 territory so I backed off. Then I looked to get into the chute to my left. There was a very exposed move to get around this rib on questionable volcanic rock. I continued uneasily up this new chute, but soon found my best option was to cross back into the original chute higher up. This again required a very exposed move, but I was finally secure within an angled chimney. I walked underneath a chockstone and followed this chute / chimney all the way up to its highest point. I was between the two highest fingers of the knuckle. I first climbed to my right. Another airy move took me to the highest point. That felt sketch! To the northwest were Round Top, The Nipple, Jeff Davis Peak and Markleeville Peak.

To the east was Raymond Peak.

To the south was Mt Reynolds.

To the west was the smoke from the Electra Fire.

I texted Asaka who also had service. She was still at Raymond Lake but was planning to leave soon. I figured that I better get a move on. I didn’t find a register so I build a cairn. I then visited the next knuckle to the south. It was nearly as high, so I climbed it just in case.

Then I dropped back into the chute / chimney.

I did not find an easier route down. It was an uncomfortable down climb. It’s funny how I feel more confident on class 5 granite than class 4 volcanic rock.

I thought it would make a nice loop to follow the north ridge directly down to the car. There were some vertical rock bands blocking passage, but I found a weakness that allowed me to get through. So far so good.

Looking back was the striking summit block of The Sinister.

Reynolds Peak stood further south.

Raymond Peak again stood to the east.

At first the ridge was great. At this rate, I would get down in no time. Out of nowhere I heard a large animal move to my left. It was a deer. I wonder what it was doing all the way up here.

Then the ridge became more difficult. My route became more convoluted. Route finding became a challenge. Volcanic spires blocked the path of least resistance.

I dropped down to the west side of the ridge. It was loose and slow going. At this rate I feared Asaka would beat me back to the car. It as getting hot and I found myself bushwhacking in some places. I made it through the rough section and resume my walk back atop the ridge. I beat the others back to the car. It was a 10 mile loop for me. It was the most enjoyable hike I've done in a long time. Rather than sit around and wait, I decided to walk to Wet Meadows Reservoir. I walked about a mile to the beach and jumped in. I expected the others to come pick me up, but they never came. A helicopter flew overhead and I became worried. Could Asaka have gone into early labor? I walked a mile back to the car and found them just arriving. Relieved, we agreed to a dinner spot on the way back and drove out together. In retrospect, I believe that The Sinister is a much better peak than most peaks on the Ogul list. It is a shame that it is not included. It is higher than nearby Reynolds Peak and more striking of a summit than the nearby Raymond Peak. I encourage all those who like scrambling to do it.

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piratewithvigor · 2 years

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Wrestlers x The Onion Headlines

#it took this series of memes to realise there simply aren't enough modern hillbilly wrestlers #gone are the days of Haystacks Calhoun #Hillybilly Jim #The Godwins #Uncle Elmer!#and whatever the bushwhackers were #anywho #AEW #WWE #Orange Cassidy #UT #Texas Tiddies Mikey #Undertaker #Shawn Michaels #Adam Page #MJF #Darby Allin #Meme

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gospelofme · 3 years

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Amusing Vacation Tales

Jesse x you (female reader, Twi’lek)

“Papa, are you sure you know how to drive this?” Jesse’s daughter, Sarion, asked skeptically. Jesse looked at the large Recreational Speeder confidently,

“Of course, remember I drove that AT-TE with no issue after half of a lesson.”

“Yeah, that’s not how Uncle Fives tells that one.” Jesse’s son, Kasen, piped up.

“Pfft, well your uncle is mistaken, now load up offspring!” Jesse ushered his family into the speeder. You followed behind your children, giving them encouraging smiles when they looked at you apprehensively.

Sarion stowed her bag in one of the luggage compartments. She then heaved her younger brother off of the sofa and deposited him into an armchair. All while listening to music on headphones fitted under her Lekku. She then tossed herself down onto the sofa.

“Whatever, I like this seat better anyways!” Kasen replied, spinning the armchair around a full 360°. Where Sarion favored you in likeness, Kasen favored his father. His skin was a bit more pigmented with Persian blue and tan, whereas Sarion was azure.

When you had found out you were pregnant, neither of you had any idea what your children would look like. You could’ve found out through ultrasounds, but you both preferred the surprise. It was hard, many people didn’t know Sarion and Kasen were biological siblings, and some didn’t realize that you and Jesse were their biological parents. You both knew they had it hard at school, but they looked after each other very well. Sarion had beaten up a girl for teasing Kasen and had fought another girl for teasing her. You both had chewed out parents and instructors alike. Jesse had taken to going to parent-teacher conferences in full ARC-Trooper gear even if he was off that day. This vacation was what your whole family needed. Due to job schedules, you both could only get 2 weeks off. But something was better than nothing.

You settled into the passenger seat as Jesse started the recreational speeder. The wide spans of Naboo’s countryside sprawled in the viewport. The large family speeder started forward and you were off. You were given the task of finding something good to listen to, settling on an oldies music station. The kids were listening to their own music on their headphones. The scenery was pleasant, mainly nothing but calming fields and forested areas since you’d both decided on a scenic view.

Of course the trip had its moments. Jessie had to swerve to avoid being clipped by another speeder, a compartment holding cooking ware opened and flung its contents at Sarion. She shrieked, Kasen laughed. Another owner of a recreational speeder wanted to race, Jesse agreed. You prayed silently that there were no security officers around, the kids cheered their father on.

You stopped at a sign for local cuisine, and had to hike to the shack. This could’ve been a disaster, since you weren’t good at hiking and you didn’t know how the kids would handle an impromptu walk of unknown length. But it went surprisingly well. Kasen and Sarion challenged each other to take the route just off the trail, essentially bushwhacking their way. Jesse kept pace with you and held your hand. The shack ended up having amazing food, and you dawdled a little too long as the kids explored the surrounding woods.

“Dad, are we gunna die in these woods?” Kasen asked as you all walked back to the trial head in near complete darkness. Your husband had a small flashlight that attached to his blaster rifle, which he may or may not have in the recreational speeder.

“No, we’d eat your mom and sister first.” Jesse teased.

“Oh good.” Kasen sounded relieved.

“Not if Sarion and I eat you both first!” You countered.

“You both are weirdos.” Sarion replied, but she sounded amused.

You arrived safely back at the recreational speeder, that the kids had lovingly christened Mrs. Deborak. Kasen explained this was because the front of the speeder looked like his Math teacher’s disappointed face. Sarion agreed, having had the same teacher.

“Everyone inside Mrs. Deborak, ugh that sounds so wrong kids.” Jesse grimaced.

“She’s a really nice lady.” You tried to reason, getting an “oh please” look from your kids and husband.

“You weren’t there when she looked at me with her disappointed face when I couldn’t solve the math problem she gave Kasen.” Jesse explained, doing a near-perfect impression of said expression.

Later you all pulled into a park for recreational speeders. Other owners were already camped. Jesse parked the large speeder expertly, so far his driving skills were passable for a full time recreational speeder owner. You and Jesse managed to make a pretty satisfying family dinner with the small cooking area the recreational speeder had. Jesse was a pretty good cook, he had a knack for making simple things pretty filling. Of course there were those times were he and Kasen spent the afternoon finding bugs and eating them.

“General Skywalker is actually really great at finding the good ones.” He noted, picking beetles out of the grass with his son.

“Fives didn’t think the General would be up to the challenge.” He added.

The sleeping arrangements were simple. You and Jesse had the master bedroom and the kids had pull out bunks just outside the door.

“Wanna fool around?” Jesse whispered.

“We have to be so quiet!” You whispered back. The sounds of quiet kisses and soft giggles were broken by your daughter.

“Oh my stars, we can hear you!!” She yelled, sounded grossed out.

“Well maybe we want another kid who will turn out nicer!!” Jesse teased back.

“Ugh! OH MY STAAARRRSSS!!!” His daughter dramatically exclaimed.

“Grooossss!” Kasen groaned.

“We’re sorry kids, we’ll go to sleep.” You promised, giving your husband an apologetic look. Jesse gave you one last kiss, wrapped his arm around you, and was soon snoring.

“Can we do this every year?” Sarion asked as she watched her father and brother try to catch fish by hand in a small river.

“Like rent out old Mrs. Deborak?” Jesse asked.

You snorted, the name was beginning to grow on you.

“No, we don’t have to do that. But just take a family trip every year?” Sarion clarified. You looked at Jesse, your husband giving you a surprised look. You had worried about the length of the trip and the attitude of the children. But there hadn’t been one argument aside from a jab here and there.

“Yeah, we could do that kiddo.” Jesse replied, getting a happy smile from his first born.

The two weeks flew by quickly, too quickly. It was like a bad dream when your alarm went off, telling you to get up for work. There was still a month a half left of summer vacation for the kids. Sometimes you envied them.

Tag list

@jgvfhl @nelba @leias-left-hair-bun

@baby-queen-zen @halzore @escapedthesarlacc

#star wars #the clone wars #star wars the clone wars #amusing vacation tales #jesse x reader #arc trooper jesse #arc trooper jesse x reader #clone trooper jesse

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sb-sratss-obsession · 3 years

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SRaTSS Episode Transcript: Ep. 1 - Star Sheriff Round-up

This is a tentative transcription of the dialogues of the first episode of “Saber Rider and The Star Sheriffs”. If you spot mistakes feel free to warn me about it, I would love to make it perfect!

Episode: 1 - Star Sheriff Round-up

Transmitted: September 14, 1987

Japanese version: 1 - "The Space Adventurers" (宇宙の冒険野郎 ‘Uchū no bōken yarō’)

OPENING THEME

Saber Rider... Saber Rider, and the Star Sheriffs Saber Rider, and the Star Sheriffs, In the sky!

Can you feel the thunder inside? Saber Rider! Make the lightning crack as you ride! Saber Rider!

(guitar solo)

Saber Rider...

Saber Rider... Saber Rider, and the Star Sheriffs Saber Rider, and the Star Sheriffs, In the sky!

EP. 1

STAR SHERIFF ROUND-UP

by Marc Handler

Saber Rider: “It was not so long ago that we, Star Sheriffs, first assembled our Special Freedom Fighting Unit. We nicknamed him Ramrod, a peacekeeping vehicle shaped like a huge cowboy. We used him to protect the settlers out here on the New Frontier. We needed the Ramrod vehicle to help stop the lightning attacks of the Outrider bandits. They were evil creatures who crossed into our dimension and raided our Cavalry Outposts. They used battalions of Dimension Jumpers and Vapor Beings who moved freely from their world to ours. We thought that Ramrod was our only chance to stop them, but in the end it was not the Ramrod vehicle but the human Star Sheriffs themselves, who really made the difference. I should know, I'm their leader. I remember when it all began; my orders were to find Vanquo, an Outrider with ghostly eyes and a long pale face. I knew they were bounty hunters seeking him so I alerted the head of operation Ramrod, a very special operative named April. Her father was the leader of the Western Sector of Cavalry Command.

Commander Eagle: What's your report, April?

April: Bad news, daddy. We think the Outriders found out about Ramrod.

Commander Eagle: Ah! But how?

April: A spy named Vanquo. I'll have to go to Planet Yuma at once.

Commander Eagle: Good luck, April.

Saber Rider: “April arrived on planet Yuma at the same time I did. Neither of us realized that we had come in the middle of their most celebrated auto race, the Yuma Grand Prix. A young driver nicknamed Fireball was leading the way in his Red Fury Racer.”

Fireball: The biggest race on planet Yuma and it’s in the bag. The other cars are so far behind I get close to the finish line smooth as a supercharged skateboard. Hey, what's that shadow? That fool! What's he doing? He's coming back around! And he set straight at me! Oh! Ah!

Colt: He's not the one I’m after.

Fireball: What’s the matter with you? You crazy?

Colt: Sorry, pardner. Afraid I got you mixed up with somebody else.

Fireball: Oh-oh. Here come the other turbochargers.

Colt: So, Vanquo sent me off on a wild goose chase. Well, that Outrider just double-crossed the wrong fella. There's a price on his head and the reward is gonna be mine.

Fireball: I had this race iced. Now I’m gonna have to fight for it.

Speaker: Ladies and gentlemen, we can see two turbochargers approaching the finish line and they’re neck and neck. Here he comes, ladies and gentlemen. He’s done it! In 23:18, a new speed record for the Red Fury Racer! What an incredible race! The crowd is going wild for Fireball, the youngest champion of all times!

Fireball: Oh, yeah, thanks!

Guy: Look out! Get those bandits!

Woman: No, stop!

Airport guard: Hold your fire!

Man: What a shoot!

Man: Get him!

Woman: They saved my little girl!

Man: But who did the fancy shooting?

Woman: It could only be one person.

Man: It has to be the legendary…

Everyone: Saber Rider!

Saber Rider: If you would be so kind, please give him a lube job. Oh, and a lump of sugar. I'd like a suite, please, overlooking the lobby if possible.

Desk Clerk: Sorry, all our rooms are full. Lots of people here to see the race, you know.

Saber Rider: Race? What race?

Desk Clerk: Why, the Grand Prix, of course. There's the winner right now.

Fireball: Hey, thank you. Thanks a lot!

Saber Rider: Where is he staying?

Desk Clerk: Way up on the 25th floor. Quite the guy, huh?

Man: Hey, Fireball, can I get your picture?

Woman: He's giving away his wreath!

Saber Rider: I’m afraid I must take his room. My mission here is urgent!

Desk Clerk: But he's got a reservation, I can't give his room away!

Fireball: Excuse me, can I have my key, please?

Desk clerk: Of course, Mr. Fireball, your room is all ready… and congratulations!

Saber Rider: Hold it right there. I'm afraid I must have this key.

Fireball: Huh? Hey, what's your trip?

Saber Rider: I'm on a mission of utmost importance!

Fireball: What? That's your problem, bud!

Saber Rider: I'm afraid it's your problem now. Let go of this key.

Fireball: Ah!

Saber Rider: Eh?

Fireball: Give me back that key!

Colt: No dice, kemosabe.

Fireball: Hey, I know who you are! You're that cowboy who almost made me lose the race!

Colt: Sorry about that, dude, but I'm on a big hunt, savvy?

Fireball: You wanna hunt? Try the jungle, savvy? And don't bother coming back.

Colt: Afraid I'm not hunting tigers, race boy. I'm looking for an Outrider with ghostly eyes and a long pale face.

Bonnie May: Colt? Has anyone seen a cowboy around here? Oh!

Colt: What?

Bonnie May: Colt! He found out about the square dance!

Colt: Who?

Bonnie May: My father, who else?

Colt: Father? You didn't tell me you had a father!

Bonnie May’s father: Don't move an inch, you slippery poisoning carpetbagging bandido.

Colt: It was just a square dance, honest!

Bonnie May’s father: You like to dance? Then you can dance the Winchester waltz. You stay away from my little Bonnie May or else.

Colt: I think I’ve used this disguise enough. Time for a change.

Bonnie May’s father: And you stay clear of bounty hunters!

Bonnie May: But daddy!

Bonnie May’s father: No buts, now come on!

Fireball: Well, so much for the fearless cowboy.

Saber Rider: I thought I might have to take a few shots to him myself, just to get his attention.

Fireball: Hmm. Yeah, sure, whatever you say.

Saber Rider: Listen, chum, I don't really want to force you out of your room.

Fireball: You don’t, uh? Well, hey, you're a sport.

Saber Rider: Look, I have an idea.

Fireball: Why do I feel like you're gonna tell me this whether I want to hear it or not?

Saber Rider: It's simple: why don't we just share the room?

Fireball: Cuz it's my room!

Saber Rider: Just a gentle suggestion.

Fireball: I think everyone around here is trigger-happy.

Saber Rider: Do we have a deal or don't we?

Fireball: You can sleep on the floor, that's it!

Saber Rider: Fine, let's shake on it.

Fireball: Huh. I'm going along with this but I don't have to like it.

Saber Rider: Incidentally, chum, about the Outrider that cowboy mentioned, if you run into him, let me know, won't you? I'm afraid if I don't find him soon this planet will probably be blown to bits.

Fireball: Are you serious?

Saber Rider: Do I sound like I'm joking?

Colt: Good thing I was wearing that sombrero and drifter outfit. The Bounty Hunter's got to have a lot of tricks and disguises, and a good disguise can come in mighty handy. Now I better get down to business; track down that Outrider. That bushwhacker gotta be around here somewhere. I just gotta make sure I find him before he finds me.

Vanquo: Let me talk to Nemesis! Oh, I know. Yes, I discovered where this Ramrod contraption is hidden; it's a sitting duck.

Colt: So are you, hombre.

Vanquo: It’s at the Frontier Outpost , just right for plucking.

Colt: Alright, dude, from vapor you came and to vapor you shall return.

Vanquo: Ah!

Saber Rider: It’s him! Vanquo!

Vanquo: I’ll be back!

Saber & Fireball: Oh!

Fireball: That Outrider just turned into vapor!

Colt: Yes, that’s what they're made out of. Nasty, aren't they?

Saber Rider: You sent him back to his own dimension, which means I can't get the information I need.

Fireball: What information? Who was he?

Saber Rider: A spy who knew about a secret defense system called Ramrod.

Colt: Right, he said something about that Ramrod. Said it was at the Frontier Outpost, like a sitting duck.

Saber Rider: Are you planning to go out there and investigate?

Colt: You kidding? I'm a bounty hunter, pardner, I got a reward to claim.

Fireball: Strange guy, huh?

Saber Rider: Totally undisciplined, no sense of etiquette whatsoever.

Fireball: Cowboys!

Saber Rider: Well, I guess I'll go and take a little rest.

Fireball: Yeah, I think I'll go for a walk, just to clear my head, you know?

Saber Rider: Alright.

Fireball: See you later. I'm going out to that Frontier Base fast!

Saber Rider: I got to get out to that Frontier Base quickly. Steed! There you are! Let’s go, boy! Up, into the sky!

Fireball: Red Fury Turbo on! Somebody's gotta warn those settlers and nobody can get out there quicker than I can!

Desk Clerk: I can't get a hold of the Outpost.

Colt: What?

Desk Clerk: I’m sorry, sir, it seems to be some sort of emergency.

Colt: I’d better head out there!

Fireball: Ah! Oh, no! The attack is already underway!

Outrider: Find the Ramrod Equalizer Unit and destroy it!

Soldier: We can’t hold them out much longer! Here they come again! We need help!

Saber Rider: You've got it, chum!

Soldier: It’s Saber Rider!

Saber Rider: Right up here, mate!

Fireball: Well, look at who’s here! Those guys aren't playing around. I’ll better get out the artillery! Ah! I can’t escape now!

Colt: Look like you need a little help there, hey, race boy?

Fireball: There are two more straight ahead!

Colt: Not anymore!

Fireball: That must be Ramrod!

April: Over here! Hurry! Did the Star Sheriffs send you?

Fireball: Star Sheriffs? Who are they?

April: Never mind. If you can drive a racecar you can help with Ramrod. It's an experimental frontier fighter system. I'm afraid it's never been tested but it's the only chance we've got.

Fireball: Hop in!

April: Right.

Colt: Hey, don't forget about me!

April: Look out! You got them! This is it, the Ramrod Equalizer Vehicle.

Fireball: Wow!

Saber Rider: I'll take charge from here!

Fireball: The lady invited me.

Colt: That's cause she didn't know I was here.

April: There's no time to argue, I'll need all three of you when we go to challenge phase.

Colt: Challenge phase, that's fancy! How fast does this puppy go?

April: Fast enough. Come on, this way to the control room. Hurry!

Fireball: It's cool!

Colt: I bet this baby packs a lot of horsepower!

April: You better believe it. These three saddle units are interactive, but the center is especially for land operations. Since you're a race car driver, well…

Fireball: They call me Fireball!

April: All right, Fireball, you take the reins!

Fireball: Right!

April: That one is for the quick draw control.

Colt: That's gotta be mine, yeah.

Fireball: Now we know what two of the systems are for. What about the third one?

Saber Rider: Maverick flight dynamics. I was already briefed back a Cavalry Command.

Fireball: Cavalry Command? What's that?

April: Headquarters of the Star Sheriffs. I'll ride shotgun over here. You'll all have to listen up. Hey, wait a minute, there's something coming at us. It's big! The Outriders have built another Renegade. We are finished if it catches us here, we've got to take off and we've got to do it fast!

Fireball: Okay, hang on your seats. We’re moving out!

Colt: It’s working!

Saber Rider: We’re accelerating to mach 4 and closing!

Colt: Yahoo! We’re out of there!

Fireball: What's that?

April: It's a Renegade Desperado Unit!

Fireball: Watch out for that claw!

April: Oh!

Fireball: You all right, April?

April: Yes, keep moving!

Colt: Well, we know that he can dish it out. Now let’s see if he can take it.

April: Look out!

Fireball: It’s following us!

April: We got to go into challenge phase.

Fireball: What's that?

April: There's no time to explain! Activate the rods above your key compartment, hurry!

Fireball: Okay, let's see what happens!

April: When the rods are clear, hit the flashing red light. Saber Rider, you give the signal.

Saber: Okay. Get ready. Not yet. Hold it. Now!

April: All right. Ramrod will now take navigational control.

Ramrod: Acknowledge, April. Navigational control on, Ramrod challenge phase, one. Head ‘em up, move ‘em out. Power stride, and ready to ride.

April: Here he comes!

Colt: Block!

Fireball: Look out! It’s doubled back!

April: Duck!

Colt: Alright, boys, let’s laser rope this Renegade dupe. If you liked the left, you’ll love the right.

Saber Rider: Nice move, cowboy. Now shall we follow up with a soccer kick?

Colt: Take it away!

Everyone: On target!

Fireball: Let's vaporize this viper!

Colt: Good thinking, pard. I'd like the feel of this shooter.

Saber Rider: We may only have one shot so let's use all the firepower we have.

Colt: All right, amigo. You want firepower? You got it.

Saber Rider: Ready? Aim. Blast them!

Colt: Well, it looks like those Outriders have seen their last round-up.

Fireball: Yeah, but what if they come back?

Colt: After that little lesson? No way.

Saber Rider: You're wrong about that. They'll definitely return

Colt: How do you know so much about it? You got an inside line on this thing, pardner?

April: He knows because he's one of us. A special agent of the secret Star Sheriffs. With these Outriders still on the loose we could use your help too, if you want to join us.

Colt: Star Sheriffs, huh? I always wanted one of those shiny silver stars.

April: Afraid we don't have many badges left since the Outriders took over the silver mines but we use these E.B.U., electronic badge units.

Saber Rider: It usually takes years to train a Star Sheriff but this is an emergency. We'll have to issue your E.B.U. right away.

Colt: No badge? I don't know, pard.

Fireball: I'm not sure about this either. What about my racing career?

April: You'll have to quit for a while but remember: Ramrod is faster than any racecar you'll ever see.

Fireball: Yeah, you've got a point there!

April: And about those badges… I'll see if I can special-order some from headquarters. What do you say, boys?

Colt: Can you picture it, pard? Riding high, fighting out with the Outriders! Paw!

Saber Rider: “And that’s how all began. The bounty hunter, a racecar driver and a beautiful girl from Cavalry Command. Together we've made a commitment to the spirit of the frontier freedom fighters. Wherever danger leads us, wherever the people need us, that's where you'll find… the Star Sheriffs!”

ENDING THEME

Saber Rider... Your destiny will lead you, To wherever people need you, Though danger may have found you, You have your friends around you now, Now! Now! Now! Saber Rider, and the Star Sheriffs! Saber Rider, and the Star Sheriffs, In the sky!

Saber Rider!

#Saber Rider and The Star Sheriffs #Saber Rider #April Eagle #Fireball #Colt #Vanquo #Eagle #SRaTSS Transcript

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operator-101001 · 3 years

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The Shop Next Door

I’m not sure when exactly I noticed the window. The charming little music shop in my hometown had been hiring during the summer between my first and second years of college. I needed the money and they needed the help; poor old Mr. Johnson just didn't have it in him to work the store all by himself anymore. After all, amps and cellos were cumbersome, and the old man was growing more brittle by the day.

I had been working there for roughly three months––in fact, my first summer was beginning to come to a close when I went fiddling with the shelf behind the register. Our customers were sparse, since demand for used trumpets and crumbling drum sets was low, so I figured I could make myself useful by unboxing and restocking the shelves with some recent shipments of brass polish and different sorts of oil. I was searching for the box cutter, maybe some scissors, groping my way around behind me while something else drew my attention; perhaps a fly, or someone driving a brightly-colored car past the door in the corner of my eye. I fumbled whatever item my hand had found, and in an effort to catch the hefty bottle of cleaner now making a swan dive to the floor, I ended up swiping clean the entire cluttered shelf that always sat inches behind my back.

That was when I saw it. It was a window positioned innocently behind the shelf, and through it, I could see straight into the shop next door. It was a quaint tea shop with oak floors and flaking white paint on the walls, complete with faded blue accents on the wood trim. I watched a patron––a suited man of about forty––walk through the front door, ringing the little brass bell hanging above it and alerting the delightfully cheery woman behind the shelf of his presence. I could even hear the muffled sounds of their speech vibrate through the now unobstructed glass.

I felt almost foolish for having never seen the feature of the building before, but it wasn’t exactly obvious. In fact, it was quite an easy window to miss; it had been sitting behind this shelf located at the back of whoever was running the register for who knows how many years, covered by the mountains of useless things that my boss had accumulated over time. I loved working here, I really did, but Mr. Johnson could be a bit of a hoarder at times. He kept trinkets and notes everywhere, busying up the paltry shop with useless antiques and age-old papers that no longer served any purpose. I organized things whenever I had time, but there weren’t many places to move the hoard to in such a petite building. With a single register and few daily customers, it only took one person to run the music store. I had to admit, it was a nice gig.

More falling trinkets––this time a pile of old keychains––drew me out of my thoughts and back to the entrancing window. I had to crane my neck strangely to see anything on account of the window being put behind a shelf on both sides. It seemed that whoever ran this whimsical shop next door had also half-hidden and forgotten about this adjoining window.

I stood there with my eyes glued to the scene, examining every detail to make sure of what I was seeing. I felt my mouth go a bit dry, a tepid flash of unease flashing rapidly through my stomach and into my trachea. My palms turned clammy. My heart pounded. The discovery didn’t frighten or shock me as much as dement my mind, for it was not the tea shop itself that unsettled me, nor the friendly conversation being had as that nice woman made the customer his tea. It was not the amount of detail, from the polished marble shelf their register sat upon to the neat, hand-written menu hanging over it and the slight give of the floorboards as the customers walked over them.

It was the fact that there was no building next door.

To ascertain that I wasn’t losing my mind or mid-stroke, I marched out of the music store, walking to the side of the storefront where I had seen the window. Just as I’d seen for all the months I had shown up to work, there was nothing; just the broad alley separating my shop from the next building over. I looked at the siding of the music store, a bit relieved yet surprised to find nothing. Staring back at me were nothing but faded bricks without a window in sight. But when I walked back inside and took my seat behind the register, swiveling my chair around to the back, I could still see the impossible tea shop that sat next door.

I decided to ask my boss about it. The next day, I gave him a call.

“Mr. Johnson? I have a question,” I told him, trying to think of how I could possibly begin to phrase it. Thoughts of being accused of insanity were pushed to the very back of my mind by a crazed sort of curiosity. I needed to know. “You know that shelf behind the register, the one where you keep the cleaner and keychains? Is there a window behind that shelf?” He had been bushwhacked when I asked him the question. Then came the suspiciously-hurried answer of no, there was not, nor had there ever been a window there, and was I feeling okay, and just what was it that I thought I saw?

I was upfront. I told him about the tea shop in as much detail as I could. I told Mr. Johnson about the brass bell over the door and the man in the suit who I watched order tea from the bubbly woman behind the counter, and how I carefully examined the outside of the building to make sure I wasn’t crazy. Mr. Johnson was very quiet after that. Our conversation ended with him instructing me to cover up the window and never talk about it again if I wanted to keep my job. That was the only time Mr. Johnson had ever threatened to fire me.

And so, per his request, I replaced the hoard of useless things to its place on the shelf, effectively blocking the window from my view. I became a model employee, taking in instruments to repair, selling guitar strings, trading used equipment and the like; all while the improbable tea shop bustled with life behind me, so active and fresh yet simultaneously absent, unable to truly exist. It was like a ghost of a place entirely dead to time, yet every time I heard the muffled ring of that brass bell, I longed to ask more questions.

It’s been years since then. I have since finished college, and everyone around me was overjoyed by my success. I returned to my hometown, planning to remain with my parents until I could get a good job sorted out. I had put in the work; I expected to be able to land anywhere I wished in my field. In time, that window would fall into the furthest recesses of my mind, written off as some insane fractal of my imagination used to distract me from the boredom on days when no customers at all would walk through the door. However, it seemed that in the end, my career path had been decided for me.

Mr. Johnson passed away last spring. He didn’t have any family, so he left his shop to me. I intend to keep it open as long as I can. After all, it’s good money, the people are nice, and I truly am interested in being surrounded by music. And so, I show up every day and clean the windows; I sweep the floor every evening before I leave; I sell drumsticks and guitar picks to students and old, grizzled musicians alike. And, with no one to answer to, I cleared just a bit of the clutter from the back shelf. Every now and then, when the days are quiet and the shop is empty, I’ll turn my gaze to the shop next door and watch the grinning lady happily serve up tea to her enigmatic customers.

#writing #creative writing #horror #the shop next door #tea shop #music store #window

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jaimesam · 3 years

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Sawtooth

We woke up on the morning of our fourth day in the Sawtooth wilderness feeling spry. It can take a day, or two, or three before the rhythm of backpacking— wake up, wolf down some instant oatmeal, slurp up some instant coffee, shoulder a 35 pound pack and start the day’s climb—begins to feel right. This was our morning.

A miracle: the skies had truly cleared of wildfire smoke for the first time since setting off from Grandjean. Good timing, too: our day ahead would be perhaps the best of the trip — up and over Cramer Pass, beneath “The Temple,” down past the Cramer Lakes and up again to Alpine Lake, reputedly a gem. We hit the trail with bounce in our step.

Three, four, five miles into our hike we were still having fun, even as we began to wonder — was it possible that Hidden Lake was, in fact, so hidden that we wouldn’t see it from the trail? When would we hit the killer climb up to Cramer Pass? Slogging through overgrown brush and clambering over deadfall — all of which felt oddly familiar — we encountered a group of five friendly outdoorsmen from Seattle.

“Morning.”

“Afternoon.”

“Am I right that we’ve got a climb ahead?”

“Oh no, it’s all downhill from here.”

“Hmm.”

“Where are you trying to get to?”

“Well we were aiming for Cramer Lakes…”

“Oh you’re a long way from there. This trail goes down to Grandjean.”

“Oh my god.”

Jaime caught up.

“We took a wrong turn.”

“I thought so.”

“It’s a bad one.”

“How bad?”

“The good news is that we’ve been making great time. Covered a lot of miles.”

“And?”

“That lake was Elk Lake. This is the trail we hiked in on our first day.”

“How…”

“Five miles ago. Missed a turn.”

“God damn it.”

“Actually more like five and a half.”

Oh yes, there were signs. Including literal signs made of actual wood. Two of which we somehow blew blindly past, and a third: seen but egregiously misinterpreted. Also the creek we had crossed thrice, which, had we been paying close attention, we might have noticed was flowing in the wrong direction. Or beautiful Smith Falls, which we had passed two days before. Or the 2.4 miles of the South Fork of the Payette Trail we had hiked on day one — the most grueling and unattractive stretch of trail we had yet encountered — you would think we might have realized something was amiss. And yet.

“We could just hike out.”

“It would be eleven more miles.”

“So we backtrack.”

“Five and a half. Uphill.”

“We’re spending an extra night out here, aren’t we?”

“I think so.”

“Do we have extra food?”

“We have enough food.”

“I hate this.”

So we backtracked. An eleven mile detour, all told, with 1500 feet of elevation lost and then gained agin, for no reason, on unremarkable, overgrown, valley trails with views of nothing but dense forest, overgrown with scrubby mountain brush. The last few miles, a steady and grueling climb, brought us back to where we had missed our first sign, six hours before. We collapsed at the intersection, refilled our bottles, and snacked on salami — the promise of which was all that had gotten us up the hill. Mosquitoes and black flies swarmed, and the sky, which had begun the day clear, turned a pinkish gray as wildfire smoke began to dim the sun again.

“Why do we do this?”

“Good question.”

Onward to Hidden Lake, not so hidden after all. After dragging ourselves over 14 miles — 3 miles of forward progress from our last camp — we collapsed on a grassy shoreline, and rinsed our scratched and bruised bodies in the glassy frigid water. The lake sat beneath two pointed cliffs, side by side — one of red stone, the other gray— and the sun set early in the narrow valley. Trout jumped, snatching flies from the water’s surface, and pair of mergansers jetted around the lake, snatching the fish in turn. Exhausted, we fell asleep listening to hermit thrushes whistling their fluting ethereal song over the quiet rush of cascades tumbling down the cliffs, filling the lake.

We woke up, wolfed down some instant oatmeal, slurped up some instant coffee, and began the day’s climb. Up and over Cramer Pass, beneath “The Temple,” a tower of red sandstone capped with a knobby monolith that might well have been the icon of some desert religion. We descended again to the three Cramer Lakes, each one cascading to the next, down further to cross a rushing stream of snowmelt and spring water. We dipped our hats and bandannas in the almost-freezing water to drip down our necks and backs in the hot afternoon. Then we’re climbing again, this time twice as high, twice as far, to Alpine Lake, a pristine tarn carved into the side of the slope, a fine place for a salami break. Then higher, sweating our way up to the day’s second pass. We looked down on the Baron Lakes, where we would camp for the night, and across the lakes to Warbonnet Peak and Monte Verita, grey and purple in the late afternoon shadows.

“This is why we do this.”

“Yeah.”

One reason, anyway. The most obvious reason. If you did a survey of the people who somehow ended up at the top of the pass above Baron Lakes, this would be the number one reason cited for braving the insects and the varmints, dealing with the aches and the rashes, and slogging up a mountain with a heavy pack: the views, the vistas, the landscapes, the panoramas. The drama of the mountains. It’s like cooking your own meal — it tastes better when you’ve worked for it, earned it, done it yourself. The view from the pass is more beautiful for the sweat and exertion dragging your body and your pack up the climb.

We got more the following day as we descended from the Baron Lakes, our final day on the trail. An oceanic valley opened up beneath us, ringed by steep cliffs and rockslides of red and grey and purple, Baron Creek turning into a 30 foot waterfall. You can’t find this outside the mountains, this sense of three-dimensional space. Of looking down a valley two miles wide as it falls away from your feet, three thousand feet down. Like standing in the greatest of civilization’s cathedrals, but one with enough open space to park a carrier group, with more room for a fleet of attack submarines below.

After five nights and six days, we have become the land. Smeared with the dust of an arid country, we blend in with the rock and dirt. And despite our daily dips in the alpine lakes of the Sawtooth, we smell like it too. That first shower will feel great. The first meal — Jaime’s been fantasizing about a tuna melt and French fries, Sam has been inexplicably craving pancakes — even better. This is also why we backpack. It feels awfully good to have done it.

More than just the relief and indulgence of returning to civilization, a week in the mountains offers a welcome reset on city life. I am a city person. I like living in a density of people, living within a stroll of most everything I need, nearby neighbors and friends. But I crave the balance offered by nature, by a week in the woods, a month in the mountains. We’ll return feeling refreshed, glad to be back, awed by the commonplace luxuries of modern urban living: a world’s worth of cuisines, at my doorstep in 20 minutes; humanity’s complete works of recorded music, in my pocket. We’ll be very glad to have done it, for all its ups and downs. And, more immediately, we’re glad to be done.

“I’m sore.”

“Me too.”

“My blister just popped.”

“Ew.”

“I feel great.”

“Me too.”

Leaning on the car, we ease off our boots. The horseflies are back at this lower elevation, and their buzzing takes us back to last week when we tightened our laces and adjusted the straps on our pack in preparation for starting our trip. We had arrived at Grandjean just a few hours behind the first wave of wildfire smoke. Hiking in July, we thought we’d beat the wildfires to the punch; no such luck. So we started our hike in a haze - literal and figurative - wondering if we’d be walking up mountains for 54 miles with the reward of smoggy vistas waiting at the passes and peaks.

The first day’s hike didn’t lift that haze. The trail was overgrown, not often used, with deadfall lying across our path requiring us to clamber over dead trunks or bushwhack through brush to get around. Horseflies dogged us, buzzing and biting. As we climbed, sweating, copses of trembling aspen yielded to a forest of ponderosa pine, white spruce, douglas fir, and horseflies yielded to mosquitoes. Six miles up the trail, we encountered two fellow hikers, who informed us that the first good campsite was another eight miles ahead, and that they were churning out 20 miles in a day to get out of this godforsaken wilderness pronto. Terrific.

Fortunately, they were wrong, and we soon found a very fine place to pitch a tent next to a small waterfall. The Payette River’s headwaters split and cascaded down on either side of a great red rock, and every few seconds, the waters surged and a shower of snowmelt would surge over the rock itself, spraying into the air.

A western tanager — electric yellow body, reddish head, and jet black wings — flitted through the campsite. So did chipmunks, rushing around frantically to spread the good news that a pair of slovenly campers had finally arrived, and the summer’s harvest was here at last.

“Look at the cheeks on that little guy.”

“He’s just dying to fill them up with our trail mix.”

Joke’s on us. His cheeks were already full. We turn around, and our bag of trail mix has been chewed open, our week’s supply of almonds, cashews, chocolate, and cranberries pawed through and looted.

“Oh no!”

“Tou thieving little bastard! You bandit! Son of a bitch!”

He was long gone, and presumably the life of the party in whatever chipmunk den he had retreated to. Not wanting to contract whatever rodent virus the chipmunks might have left on our nuts — and not wanting to reward their banditry — I fed our entire supply of trail mix to the fish, swearing profusely as each morsel washed downstream. We have enough food without it, I think.

Our second morning, we awoke to what appeared as a fine morning mist; the pines in the middle distance enveloped in a grey cloud; the ridgeline hazy. But central Idaho is a dry country, this time of year. There is no mist. The wildfire smoke has thickened, and an image of peace transforms to a vague and grim picture of threat and foreboding. We shoulder our packs and resume the climb; eleven more miles on the trail, plus half a mile vertically.

As we walk we get our first glimpses of sawtooth silhouette. Steep rocky cliffs capped with jagged ridgelines, hazy and dark in the smoke against the grey sky. We cross a cold stream, boots off, sandals on, almost knee deep in the rushing icy water. We stop to rest — our first salami break of the trip! — beside Smith Falls, a roaring cascade.

“Do you have the hand sanitizer?”

“I thought you had it.”

“Nope.”

“Where’s the soap?”

“Packed with the hand sanitizer.”

“We’re disgusting.”

The day has gotten hot, and our final mile is a savage climb, switchbacking up the rough talus slope of Mt. Everly. Closing in on 9000’ feet of elevation, we stop to catch our breath every few steps and soak in the panorama behind us: smoky and grey, but astounding nonetheless, with miles of views into wilderness valleys ringed by sawtooth ridges.

Finally, we climb high enough that a lake reveals itself as a sliver of blue, and then it’s at our feet. Everly Lake is a sapphire droplet, water clear to the bottom, the gently rippling surface sparkling azure in the late afternoon sun. It sits beneath the east face of Mt. Everly, a scree cliff dropping a thousand feet to the water’s edge, across from where we set up camp. We haven’t seen another soul all day, and we have this lake very much to ourselves.

Why do we do this? An interesting question because, in case it’s not obvious, backpacking trips involve a considerable quantity of suffering. We do it for the satisfaction and rejuvenation of completing a trip, certainly. And obviously the views — even when they’re gray and hazy. But this — this is really why we hump heavy packs up rocky cliffs, put up with clouds of insects and wildfire smoke, endure blisters and aches and altitude sickness. There is freedom in solitude (dual solitude, in our case), and real solitude is a hard thing to come by. Hot and sweaty and ragged from the climb, I splash into the glass-clear snowmelt of Everly Lake, naked as a wild animal.

When telling people about our big trip west, our route through Wyoming, Idaho, Montana, the most frequent first response was “ah, you’re doing the parks.” Meaning the National Parks, those natural American wonders with scenic byways leading drivers to the parks’ iconic sights, visitors’ centers full of gifts and amenities and fun facts, and influencers dangling their immaculate bodies over sheer cliffs to rack up the likes. Not so. We are, in fact, avoiding the Parks at all costs, instead seeking solitude in forests and wilderness — the likes of the Sawtooth.

In March, we took a trip to Great Smoky Mountain National Park, hoping to hike and revel in some of the finest scenery you’ll find east of the Mississippi. The joke was very much on us. Day one, we spent two hours in the car, inching toward a trailhead, in a miles-long snake of cars and trucks and RVs. In July and August, Yellowstone National Park transmutes from the largest national park in the lower 48 into the biggest parking lot on the North American continent. People sleep in their cars on the road to Zion, in the hopes of snagging a shot at a sunrise selfie.

It’s been fifty years since Edward Abbey wrote Desert Solitaire, which I’ve been reading on the trail. The book is an account of his summers as a ranger in the park that would eventually become Arches. He lamented road-building in National Parks, and proposed banning cars altogether, a fine idea. Many of our Parks did alright for decades, even with their roads and scenic byways; today’s plauge, clogging those roads and viewpoints and even some of the trails, is known as Instagram. The secret is out about the natural beauty of the American west, and the hoards have flocked.

Of course, not everyone out here in nature is seeking solitude. That’s fine. Certainly, every person has a right to see and experience earth’s great wonders. But even for the casual nature tourist, I would posit that the Grand Canyon would be better enjoyed with enough room to swing one’s arms. What to do about it? Who knows. The French are de-marketing their national parks, advertising the flaws and shortcomings of the country’s great natural sites; another fine idea, maybe there are others. At any rate, Abbey is lucky to be dead; the sight of hoards of selfie-snappers crowding for the perfect pic at Mesa Arch would kill him over again.

For those who do seek something approaching solitude, it’s harder and harder to find. We’ve avoided the National Parks, but even many of the forest campgrounds are full beyond the brim. We’ve spent evenings driving around the backwoods, trying in vain to find a good place to camp that isn’t already clogged with RVs. And I’m not here to tell anyone how to enjoy nature, but I am here to tell you that the RV is a blight upon American wilderness. Pulling into a campground in a forgotten corner of the Black Hills, and listening to a fleet of generators run for hours is, shall we say, irritating. If your idea of exploring America’s natural beauty involves parking a bus that costs as much as Lamborghini in the woods and running a generator 16 hours a day to keep your A/C running and your TV on, why not save yourself the trouble — and do the rest of us a favor — and stay home?

As one friend likes to say, gazing up at a spectacular mountain view and taking a contented sigh: “We mean nothing.” In the city, it’s hard to see yourself outside the contemporary, the immediate, the urgent. Put yourself in nature, in the shadow of a great peak or at the bottom of a colossal canyon, and it becomes possible to see your ego and your consciousness in a more accurate perspective: transient, insignificant. There’s freedom in that. And peace.

The chipmunks of Everly Lake share the thieving attitude of their cousins down the mountain. As we sat absorbing the last of the orange sun’s rays, we heard a rustling behind us, and caught one in the act trying to seize our sesame crisps. Rather than chewing through the bag and filling his fat cheeks with whatever they could carry, this greedy fellow had his tiny arms wrapped around the entire ziploc bag, attempting to make off with the whole kit and kaboodle. Not today, chipmunk. We learned our lesson. Our food bag didn’t leave our sight the rest of the trip.

We awoke the next morning to the smell of a campfire burning outside our tent. Poking my head out into the grey predawn light — no campfire, just a thick cloud of wildfire smoke. The far shore was shrouded in haze, and our sparkling blue lake had turned dull; a grim sense of foreboding gripped us as we wolfed down our instant oatmeal, slurped up our instant coffee, and shouldered our packs to descend from Everly.

We hop from lake to lake through the southern Sawtooth, and, mercifully, the cloud of smoke thins as we go. Not a soul on the trail, as we dip our toes in lakes with wonderful names — Ingeborg, Spangle, Ardeth— and some quotidian names — Rock Slide, Vernon, Benedict. I regret leaving my binoculars in the car, we try to ID our avian companions anyway. Most will end up in our books as LBBs (little brown birds), curious peepers and cheepers. We do grow fond of the white-capped sparrow, which looks like it’s wearing a bike helmet and sings a song that sounds like the opening refrain of Baby Shark. Funny little fellow.

We arrive at Lake Edna, our camp for the night, and the skies have cleared. We are treated to sunset over a glassy indigo surface. We watch the sun fall behind the same mountain that it has set behind for hundreds, thousands of summer evenings previous. It’s harder and harder to find pristine nature like this, unaltered by humanity. If some other person had felt compelled to make the same hike, climb the same hill 500 or 5000 Julys ago, they would have seen the same thing, heard the same birds, enjoyed the shade of the same trees. There is magic in that.

We woke up on the morning of our fourth day in the Sawtooth wilderness feeling spry.

This essay borrows liberally and consciously in structure and style from Messrs. Edward Abbey & John McPhee.

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the-awkward-outlaw · 5 years

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Second Chances - Ch. 12

Finding the New South

Warnings: swearing, nsft

Word count: ~6400

Special thanks to @sad-sweet-cowboah for their guide to writing smut (Please be aware this is my very first time writing smut, so it might be complete garbage)

The next few days are spent unpacking the wagons and getting settled around Clemens Point. You love being this close to the giant lake. However, you can’t seem to enjoy the humidity. It’s not as bad as the swamps were, but it makes the heat seem more intense.

You walk out of the woods, holding a repeater, hand in hand with Arthur after having just come off guard duty. The morning sun already beats down on the dry land. You walk past the horses with him and you hear someone yelling. It sounds like Sadie.

You and Arthur approach Pearson’s wagon and find the widow pointing a large knife at the cook, who looks like he’s about to grab his butcher knife and go at her.

“Say whatever you damn well please,” Sadie hisses at Pearson. “But if I don’t get out of here soon, I’m going to kill somebody!”

“And if you don’t stop hissing at me, I’m gonna kill you!” he snarls back.

“What is wrong with you two?” Arthur intervenes, dropping your hand.

“I ain’t choppin’ vegetables for a livin’!” Sadie slams the point of the knife into the table.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Arthur says. “Were there insufficient feathers in yer pillow?”

“I ain’t lazy, Mr. Morgan! But I ain’t doin’ this!” She walks past him, slamming her shoulder into Pearson and stopping by the other end of the wagon. “My husband and I, we shared the work. I worked in the fields, I can hunt, use a gun. But I tell ya, you keep me here and I’ll skin this fat ol’ coot and serve him for dinner!”

Pearson jabs a finger at her. “You watch your mouth, you crazy goddamn fish wife!”

Sadie roars and charges towards him as Arthur grabs her and pushes her back. “Enough! What is the matter with ya, both of ya?”

Sadie turns away from them, spotting you. She looks as mad as a cougar, but you can sympathize with her. You were once trapped in camp, too, unable to leave for doubts of your loyalty to the gang back in Bison Point. You step forward.

“Why can’t she come with us, Arthur?” you say, standing between him and her. “I bet she’s just as capable as I am out there.”

He looks at you; you can tell he’s almost doubtful. He speaks to her again. “You wanna head out there, run with the men? Fine, but we do more than huntin’ out there. We’re hunted.”

“I ain’t afraid of dyin’, Mr. Morgan,” she spits at him, her face stony.

“Good,” he turns to Pearson, who looks almost ashamed for his outburst. “Ya need anythin’, Mr. Pearson? Girls and I are gonna take a ride into town.”

Pearson grabs a list of supplies and hands it to Arthur just as Grimshaw stomps over.

“Mr. Morgan, I need Y/N here,” she squawks.

You sigh, feeling defeated. Arthur looks at you and then back to her. “I’m sorry, Ms. Grimshaw, but I’m afraid I already promised Y/N a trip to town. Takin’ Mrs. Adler with me before we lose our cook.”

You can tell she wants to argue, but then she just shakes her head and marches away, muttering about you leaving camp so often. You whisper your thanks into Arthur’s ear.

“Oh, Mr. Morgan,” Pearson says, patting his shoulder and handing him an envelope. “Will you deliver this for me?”

“Of course, Mr. Pearson,” Arthur says, placing the envelope in his satchel. You and Sadie follow him to a wagon and help him hitch two draft horses onto it. You climb into the front, sitting next to Arthur as Sadie sits behind him, collecting herself. Arthur whips the horses and moves on down the trail and into the trees.

“Let me see that letter,” Sadie says, tapping him on the back.

“What, you readin’ his mail now?”

“So robbin’ and killin’, that’s where you draw the line?” she laughs.

“A’right, fine,” Arthur says, handing her the letter. She carefully opens it, unfolding the letter inside.

“Dear Aunt Cathy,” she begins in a poor attempt at Pearson’s gruff voice. You and Arthur laugh as she reads his letter.

“You are somethin’ else,” he laughs as she hands back the letter in the envelope.

Arthur guides the wagon into a small, dusty town. You see a large sign stating the name of Rhodes. He drives you past a yellow train station and down the main road, stopping outside the general store. He instructs you and Sadie to go inside while he delivers the letter.

You and the widow walk into the store and hand the clerk Pearson’s shopping list. A shopboy starts piling the items into a box, you help him as Sadie glances through the catalog. She points out different items of clothing, asking to see them. He hands her a bundle of clothing and she disappears outside for a moment to the backyard. She comes back in, wearing them.

You thank the clerk and start carrying a box outside to the wagon, followed by the shopboy. He shoves the box into the wagon as Arthur approaches the two of you.

“Here, take that for yerself,” Sadie says to the shopboy as he throws the last sack into the packed wagon, tossing him a silver dollar.

“Thanks,” he says to her in an ungrateful tone.

“Well give it back then, Jesus!” she barks as he turns away. “We didn’t ask for his goddamn help.”

You chuckle as you climb into the front again, accompanied by Arthur. Sadie carefully makes her way over the back, sitting on a large crate. Arthur hands you the reins. “Here, why don’t you drive?”

You look at him and smile. You haven’t driven a wagon since you were forced to carry Emma, your horrible cousin, around Blackwater. You can still remember how to do it. You flick the reins, urging the horses on down the road, turning them back in the direction you had come.

“You got everything?” Arthur asks.

“Think so,” you say.

“And some new clothes, I see, Mrs. Adler,” he looks behind at her.

“I can wear what I damn well want. Never see you hasslin’ Y/N for wearing pants. Never seen her in a dress, I don’t think.”

You smile but don’t say anything as you flick the reins again.

“‘Sides, I wasn’t some little wife with a flower in my hair bakin’ cherry pies all day,” she says.

“Well, at least you look the part now,” you say. “Guess you can finally blend in with all us outlaws.”

Arthur leans back and drapes an arm behind your shoulder as he chuckles.

“Can only see you sittin’ on yer porch playin’ on the harmonica,” he says.

“I’ll have you know I used to have one when, well, before my house got burnt down.”

“Yeah, I’m real sorry ‘bout that.”

“I don’t want no pity. Just know that no one’s ever takin’ anything from me ever again!” she growls.

You’ve just left the town of Rhodes behind when two riders trot up to the wagon. Something about them tells you they aren’t trying to pay pleasantries. Arthur seems to sense it as well; he withdraws his arm from you.

“What you folks up to?” one of the men asks.

“Just headin’ home,” Arthur replies.

“You’re in Lemoyne Raider country,” the other man says from Arthur’s side. “Ya need to pay a toll to pass through here.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

You put the reins into one hand, grabbing the handle of your sawed-off with the other.

“How ‘bout you pull over right now?” barks the man next to you.

“How about this?” Sadie screams, standing up and whipping out a pistol, shooting him in the head. The blast of the gun spooks the horses and they jump into a gallop. You pull on the reins with both hands with all your strength, trying to regain control. You can see ahead a y-intersection with more riders standing on it, rifles pointed at you and the others. One of them stupidly stands directly in front of the horses. You let them go, trampling him as they head into the trees off the path. The wagon comes to a stop and you hop out with Arthur and Sadie and head into cover behind a large boulder.

Arthur leans against the rock with you, pulling out his two guns. “Damn it, Sadie,” he mutters as he stands up and shoots a few times, kneeling down beside you again. You pull out your shotgun and shoot it twice, taking down two men. You sit back down and reload it.

“She’s got a fire in her after all,” you say, standing up again and shooting two more men.

After a few moments of gun fire, the last few Raiders still standing flee, disappearing through the tall grass and into a nearby field. Sadie stands up from her boulder. “Told you I could shoot a gun, didn’t I?” she asks, a proud smile stretching over her face.

“I don’t remember askin’ you to prove it!” Arthur says angrily, approaching the wagon again. You climb up after him and make to grab the reins, but he grabs them first and directs the horses back onto the path after Sadie sits back down on her crate.

“We showed them bastards!” she says.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side,” you say.

“They was clearly plannin’ to bushwhack us!”

“Maybe,” Arthur says. “But that’s a lot of mess to make this close to camp.”

You can see ahead the dead tree that sits beside the trail that winds into Clemens Point.

“Are you gonna tell Dutch?” she asks.

“Maybe, maybe not,” he says. You pat his arm, giving him a look. “I won’t mention it unless he brings it up first, a’right?” he adds.

He leads the wagon down the trail. “Now don’t go ribbin’ Pearson about that letter. And please, no matter what ya do, don’t kill him.”

Sadie laughs. “I wouldn’t dream of it! At least about the letter anyways.”

Arthur laughs again, pulling the wagon to a stop by the main campfire. “I won’t be givin’ you any mail to post, that’s for shoar.”

“I just want to get a peak at your journal.”

“Not a chance.”

You laugh. “Sadie, even I ain’t seen the inside of his journal. Don’t go holdin’ your breath on that one.”

The three of you hop out of the wagon as Pearson approaches. You grab a box and take it over to his wagon.

“I’d like to say I missed our refined conversations, Mrs. Adler,” Pearson grumbles. “But I’d be lyin’.”

She huffs. “I enjoyed myself out there. Thank you Mr. Morgan and Ms. Y/L/N.”

“Don’t mention it,” you smile at her.

“I would ride with you again, Mrs. Adler, if you will ride with me,” Arthur adds.

“Maybe, if you can prove you can handle yourself out there,” she says cheekily, walking away.

Arthur laughs as he grabs another box, handing it to Pearson.

“We got this, Arthur,” he says, nodding his head to Sadie. “You already did me a big favor today.”

Arthur tips his hat and turns away, approaching you again as you finish untacking the horses and walking them back to the main group. The O’Driscoll, Kieran, stands among them, grooming his pretty red-roan horse. He nods at you nervously. You meet Arthur over by your shared tent.

“So, what you got planned for today?” you ask.

“Well, think Dutch wants to go scopin’ Rhodes with Hosea, see if we can find any leads on a score.”

“Already?”

“Of course. Money don’t just show up by magic, princess.”

“That’s not what I meant, Arthur. We only just got here!”

“Well, like I said, they just wanna see what’s out in the town. Doubt we’ll actually do anythin’ for awhile. ‘Sides, who knows how long we’ll be here. No tellin’ how soon them Pinkertons will find us again. We ain’t gonna be here forever.” “Exactly. So let Dutch wait for just a bit and come with me,” you offer him your hand. He takes it, looking skeptical. You pull him on towards the lake. You walk down its sandy banks and away from the camp until the trees block it from sight. You stop by a large log, enjoying the view as the midday sun radiates down onto you.

You release his hand and begin stripping off your boots.

“What are you doin’?” he asks, watching you.

“Oh, come on, Arthur, don’t tell me you ain’t ever done this.”

Once your feet are exposed to the air, you roll up your jeans and wade into the cool water. You peak over your shoulder to find him standing there, staring at you.

“C’mon, Arthur. It’s nice.” You raise your arm and hold out your hand to him.

“A’right, fine,” he says, taking off his boots and rolling up his pants, wading in next to you and grabbing your hand. You look down into the shallow water, watching as tiny little shadows flit around the sand. You realize after a moment that they’re tiny fish, hiding in the safety of the shallows from larger fish.

Arthur stands behind you and wraps his arms around you, pulling you against him. You place your hands on his thick arms, allowing yourself to lean against him. The two of you stand in silence, watching a boat in the distance make its way slowly to the far-off shores of Blackwater.

It’s late afternoon, and you stand by Pearson’s fire, dishing yourself up some stew. Arthur had left over an hour ago with Dutch and Hosea to go scouting Rhodes for a lead. You thought they’d be back by now, but you’re not worried.

You stand by a large tree which usually acts as Uncle’s napping spot, although the man is sitting beside the main campfire playing his banjo. You listen to the sounds of camp, the soft conversations and the crackling fires. You realize in this moment that you’re content.

You hear something coming from the lake. Echoes of men laughing accompanied by the steady pulse of splashing. You look towards the slightly tilted dock and see Hosea, Dutch and Arthur sat in a boat, paddling their way towards the shore. They become strangely muted as they hit dry land, Arthur hopping out and pulling the boat further up onto shore. He walks away from the boat with Hosea as Dutch calls to him from the back seat of the boat, looking relaxed. Arthur pats Hosea’s back before making his way over to you.

“You want some dinner?” you ask, showing him your tin plate of half-finished stew.

“Not now,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, shielding his eyes from you with the rim of his hat. “Y/N, will you come with me?”

“Where to?”

“Not far, just into the trees there. Need to talk to ya ‘bout somethin’.”

He grabs your hand and leads you into the trees.

“Arthur, I’m not even done eating!”

He laughs and stops. “Well, hurry up then.”

You giggle and quickly slurp it up, tossing your plate onto the grass. Arthur squeezes your hand and leads you deeper into the trees until the camp is concealed from sight. He walks you up a rise so you can see the water.

He stands for a moment, gazing out at the lake. He doesn’t let go of your hand. After a moment, he sits down, gesturing for you to sit in front of him. You comply, settling your back against his firm chest. He wraps his arms around you and sighs deeply. You wonder if he just wanted to come somewhere quiet to try and get some sleep, but didn’t want to be alone.

After several moments, he starts kissing your neck, his scruffy beard tickling your skin, goosebumps erupting. You giggle. “Arthur, that tickles. What’re you doin’?”

He takes his hand and turns your face to his. “I’m sorry things went wrong last time you and I tried… to be romantic. I didn’t mean to scare ya.”

You smile. “Arthur, it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know. It was nice though, to finally tell someone. To let someone else know… about my pain.”

He smiles and kisses you, his thumb stroking your cheek.

“Well, I had an idea. ‘Bout how to show ya that… how I really feel about ya.”

Your heart suddenly starts pumping fast, you can feel your own pulse in your back, arms and legs. You’ve no idea what he has in mind, other than he wants to be physical with you. He senses your hesitation.

“Darlin’, d’ya mind if I just try somethin’? If ya don’t like it, any of it, I’ll stop and won’t ever ask again.”

You swallow hard, feeling nervous. Arthur’s been so patient with you. Last time in the hotel room when he tried to make love to you, you had slapped him and pushed him away, reliving memories with your husband. After you told him everything, why you doubted you could ever enjoy that kind of passion, he had been so gentle and had not brought it up again. You figure you at least owe him the courtesy of trying to help you. You nod your head, feeling yourself shiver.

He kisses you gently, tongue flicking out over your lips. His hands come together over your chest, undoing a couple of the buttons. When the gap is large enough, he slides a hand under your shirt, pushing away your chemise and finding your nipple. He flicks it softly, twirling it between his fingers. You sigh loudly, enjoying the sensation to your surprise. He plays with your breast, squeezingand massaging it.

You feel his other hand slide down your body towards your lower half. His other hand leaves your chest so that both can undo your gunbelt and open your jeans. His hand returns to your breast, tickling the nipple again. The entire time, he’s kissing you. The hand by your jeans slips under your clothes, finding your slit. Despite your inhibitions, you feel you’re already wet. He gently slides his fingers between your folds, rubbing your center, causing you to gasp.

His rubbing and toying becomes faster, forcing you to break the kiss so you can tilt your head back against his shoulder, moaning. You find yourself spreading your legs, allowing him better access. His index circles your clit gently, making you gasp again. He continues circling and rubbing it, stimulating your core as he kisses your neck. After a moment, you feel him slide one finger into you. You shiver again from the stimulation. His middle follows his index, his thumb circling your sensitive nub all the while.

The sensations are too much and you feel your hips begin to buck slightly into his hand. You feel his hardened length pressing into your back under his jeans. You take one of your hands, which had been clutching his arm, and start reaching for his cock. Right as you’re about to grab it, to pleasure him, his hand from under your shirt shoots out, grabbing your arm.

“Nuh-ugh, darlin’,” he growls in your ear, kissing your neck again as you buck into his hand. “This is for you.”

Your arms fall to your sides. You grab onto clumps of grass, ripping them out as he pushes his fingers into you and pulls them out again. He thrusts his two fingers into your core, still massaging your clit with his thumb. You buck harder and higher when his pace picks up. You start to groan loudly, unable to keep quiet, your breathing becoming fast. His fingers press into you harder; faster until you feel something building up inside of your chest, fogging your brain, making even your own thoughts indecipherable. Your stomach tightens.

“Oh, Arthur,” you yelp, eyes squeezed tight shut, letting your body enjoy the sensations of him pleasuring you. “Arthur, I... I…” You can’t complete the sentence, even though you’ve no idea what you’re trying to say.

“Let it go, darlin’,” he mutters in your ear. His nose glides from your neck down to your shoulder. You can tell he’s watching you writhe against his hand. He presses harder, his fingers dipping farther into your core. He circles your center again, spreading your folds with his thick hand. You feel yourself tip over the edge, tossing your head back as the waves of pleasure shoot through you, causing your walls to clench tight around his fingers. You almost scream, covering your mouth so as not to be heard. He pulls your hand away just as your voice leaves your mouth.

“I want the whole world to know how I’m makin’ ya feel right now, baby.”

He stimulates you again with his fingers. You come apart in his hand. After a few seconds, you begin to relax.

Arthur pumps his fingers into you once, twice, then gently pulls them out of your core. He slides his hands against your folds before snaking his hand out of your jeans. You feel light and almost dizzy. Your legs shake as your peak simmers down. He kisses your neck again as he cleans off his hand. He closes your jeans and rebuttons your shirt for you, which is probably a good thing. You struggle to move any part of your body, still resting against his.

“Yer a’right, girl,” he mutters deeply in your ear. You find your voice again.

“Arthur Morgan,” you gasp. “That was… I didn’t know it could feel like that!”

He laughs, his chest reverberating against your back. “That weren’t even the full show, sweetheart.”

You turn your head to look into his face again, resting a sweaty hand against his cheek. “Well, if the version you just gave me was that good, I can only imagine what the real one is like.”

He chuckles, his hot breath washing over you before he kisses you on the lips gently. You break it for a moment.

“I really should be paying you back for that.”

“No,” he mutters, kissing you again. “I wanted to do this for ya. I’ve had enough for now.”

The two of you relax in one another’s arms in the grass, the sounds of birds and the lapping of the lake on the sand humming in your ears. You still feel light and slightly shaky in Arthur’s arms, but he holds you tightly against him.

After several moments, he pats your shoulder.

“A’right, honey. I need to get somethin’ to eat.”

You suddenly wonder if maybe you’ve offended him with your silence. He had just taught you that physical romance could feel good, and you’d hardly said anything.

“Arthur, thank you for that,” you say, kissing his firm jaw.

He smiles and meets your lips with his again. “Of course, darlin’. I just wanted to let ya know how I feel about ya.”

“I really should return the favor. Show you how I feel about you.”

“Later, darlin’. Like I said, this was for you.”

He starts to get up, lifting you to your feet with him, which is a good thing since your legs are still a bit wobbly.

You walk out of the trees, hand in hand with Arthur, your body light but still shaky. He grins at you cheekily, making you blush and look away. You look around, terrified that people in camp had heard you, but no one gives either of you any attention.

Arthur pulls you over to the fire and sits down on the log. He squeezes your shoulders gently and then leaves, returning a few moments later with a plate of stew. You lean against his sturdy frame while he eats. Uncle’s at the fire, along with Grimshaw and Charles. You rest your head on Arthur’s shoulder, feeling tired even though the sun has only just set.

Charles pulls out a harmonica and starts playing a tune. Susan, beating her fingers against her lap, suddenly breaks into song, following the tune. You hear the term “Buffalo gals”, and are pleasantly surprised by how good her voice is. Arthur, having finished his meal, sways you with the tune gently, which isn’t helping you stay awake. Susan finishes the song with a long, low note and your eyes droop.

The sound of splashing from the lake wakes you up. You sit up in your shared cot, your thighs slightly sore from your activities with Arthur yesterday. You realize that Arthur must have carried you here after you fell asleep last night. You smile at the thought. He was always saying how much of a bad man he was, yet constantly proving himself wrong with acts like this.

You get up and stretch before walking outside to see what’s making the splashing sound. You see Jack throwing a stick for a dog. Arthur, leaning against a tree, watches as he drinks his coffee. You approach him.

“Where’d he come from?” you ask, nodding your head to the dog as it plunges into the water again.

“Don’t know,” Arthur says, putting his arm over your shoulder and pulling you into him. “Dog just showed up. Dutch saw him, guess he’s stayin’ with us.”

You rest your head on his shoulder while still watching the boy and the dog play. Jack giggles loudly as the dog shakes his soaked fur. “Does he have a name?”

“Cain. Dutch said he must be a wanderer for doin’ somethin’ bad.”*

“He’s a dog,” you smile. “I highly doubt he could have done anything bad.”

Arthur’s chest rumbles with a soft laugh. He offers you his cup of coffee, which you take.

A distraction comes in the form of Grimshaw, huffing as she marches over to you. You pull away from Arthur as she plants her hands on her hips.

“Ms. Y/L/N!” she says. You try not to grin, knowing she’s still mad about the fact that you got out of chores yesterday. “I need you to go help the other girls! Go on, now!”

She ushers you across camp, guiding you over to Pearson’s wagon. You approach the large bin of water and dirty dishes, dipping your hands into the bubbly liquid. You begin to scrub when a shadow crawls across your hands. You look over your shoulder, spotting Micah. He watches you intensely for a moment before approaching you.

“What you want, Micah?” you spit before he has the chance to open his mouth.

“Why you always so defensive?” he says, his voice lilting.

“Only defensive around people I associate with vermin.”

His sneer turns into a frown. “You better watch your mouth, girlie. Keep talkin’ like that, maybe I’ll come visit your tent one night.”

You pull your hands out of the water and turn your whole body to him, your finger brushing against the handle of your gun. “Come anywhere near me, Micah, and I’ll put a bullet between your eyes.”

He snickers, running a hand over his moustache and walking away. You know he’s just trying to get a rise out of you, but you can’t help but be disgusted by him. You’ve heard him talk to the other girls in the same manner. You’d also witnessed him antagonizing Charles one day. You had watched, along with several other people, Charles stand up and throw Micah to the ground. Since then, he hadn’t bothered Charles. Maybe you needed to do something similar. Not that you would do it now, but perhaps in the future.

A few days have passed since Arthur had taken you into the woods. You’ve found yourself remembering what he had done to you, how he made you feel. You’ve become slightly confused about it, however. During all the years you were married to James, not once did you ever feel anything good, either emotionally or physically, when James laid you down. You have to remind yourself that James had forced himself on you, never asking for your consent. Arthur, on the other hand, had made sure you experienced pleasure.

You return to camp from a mission with Sean. He had invited you earlier in the day to go rob a household from some other crooks. The take had been good and there were only a few men to deal with, most of them drunk, so the work hadn’t even been hard. Not that you’re surprised. Sean most likely wouldn’t have been interested in the job if it didn’t seem easy. Despite that, you had enjoyed doing the job with him; he always knew how to make you laugh.

You tie Rannoch to the hitching post, seeing Artemis nearby. Arthur’s been gone for a couple of days. You look around but you can’t see him anywhere. You walk into the middle of the camp, scanning your eyes again. Tilly, playing a game of dominos with Hosea, spots you.

“He’s by the lake,” she says, picking up on who you’re looking for. You offer her your thanks and leave, thinking that he’s probably fishing. You spot him in the area you had gone wading.

You walk quickly down the sandy beach, waiting for him to spot you. As you get closer, you realize he’s shirtless. He bends down in the water, dipping the black shirt into the water and pulling it out again. You slow down, admiring the view. His firm arms, despite the farmer’s tan. The slope of his chest and stomach.

He hears your footsteps and looks up, smiling as he sees you. “Hey, darlin’.”

“What are you doin’?” you ask, stopping just at the edge of the water.

He holds up his soaked shirt, examining it. You take the opportunity to look at his bare back and admire his broad shoulders, the hardened lines of his spine.

“Ah, that job of Uncle’s was a damn set-up. Spent the night in some barn ‘fore the law showed up and shot us out of it. Had to smack one of ‘em with a hatchet, got his blood on me.”

You nod, knowing that the other girls were not appreciative about cleaning blood from clothes.

“Think I got most of it out,” he says, finally turning to you. You can’t help your eyes sliding down from his face to his body. His broad chest has just the right amount of hair, glinting red and blonde in the midday sun. Your face reddens as you follow his treasure trail, making you look away.

“What you lookin’ at?” he says, smiling mischievously.

“Nothing,” you say, even though you know you’re beet red. He laughs, stepping out of the water. He wrings his shirt out again and then fans it harshly a few times. Once he’s deemed it dry enough, he slips it on back over his head. The damp fabric clings to his firm body, which you don’t mind in the slightest. He side-steps you and walks over to a boulder where he had laid out his red leather vest. He puts it on and starts to button it up. You spot a gold, metal star on his chest, which says “sheriff”.

“Sheriff?” you say, sliding a finger over the star. He puts his hat back on and looks down.

“Oh, somethin’ Dutch came up with,” he sighs heavily. He offers you his arm as you both start to walk back to camp. He quickly tells you about two warring families in the town of Rhodes: the Greys and the Braithwaites, how they’ve been at odds with one another for longer than anyone in town can remember. He tells you how Dutch wants to ingratiate into both families and maybe come out of it with some old Confederate gold. The Greys also happen to be the lawmen in Rhodes, so Dutch had gotten himself and Arthur temporarily deputized.

You walk back into camp, Cain bounding past you and nearly tripping Arthur. He laughs at the dog, who acts as though nothing happened. You can tell Arthur likes the dog, and you recall the photo on the side of the wagon that acts as your shared tent, the one showing a floppy-eared dog.

“Who’s dog was that?” you ask. “The one you have a photo of?”

He looks at you and rubs his chin. “That was Copper. Dog I had not long after I… after Dutch and Hosea found me. He was a good dog.”

Arthur guides you over to the round table close to the lake, which is currently empty. You sit down, your hand still in his. “What happened to him?”

“Just got old,” he says flatly. “Had him for about 8 years. Never lost the puppy in him. Great huntin’ companion, too. Caught more ducks than anything else.”

You smile at him as he reminisces his past. His eyes are far away as he stares off into camp. “To be honest, Y/N,” he says. “If… If I was ever to get out of this life, this gang, I’d want another one.”

“Why couldn’t you get one now?” you ask sadly. Now that you’re a member of this gang, these people you’ve begun to see as family, you can’t imagine being anywhere else.

“Ah, it’s too dangerous for a dog, I think, darlin’. Right now, anyways. Maybe someday, I’ll have another one.”

“How did Dutch and Hosea find you?” you ask, never having heard the story before.

“Ah, ‘s long story, darlin’,” he squeezes your hand.

“I got all night, Arthur.”

By the campfire, Uncle and Sean have taken up a drinking song, their loud voices carrying over to you.

He laughs, standing up. “Let me take ya somewhere quieter and tell ya.” He doesn’t let go of your hand as he walks you to the outskirts of the camp, sitting down at the base of a tree. He offers you his lap so you can lean your back against his chest. You do so, enjoying how firm he is against you. He wraps his arms around you, watching the setting sun.

“My mother,” he says. “She was a good woman. Smart, funny. My pa was a right old bastard, drink had a mean hold on him. He beat her, beat me. When I was a kid, my mother got sick. Watched her die. My pa acted like he barely noticed her absence. Few years later, he came home from the saloon with a bullet hole in his stomach. He lived for a couple of days. When he died, I had to leave my home. My pa had borrowed a lot of money from some fellers in town, knew they’d come soon to take the house for his debts.

“I went off into town, figurin’ I could, I don’t know, get a job as a stable boy or newspaper boy. Couldn’t find one though. Everyone I asked either didn’t have a place for me or refused to give one to a ‘no-good homeless kid’. Ended up stealin’ food from garbage cans, pickin’ people’s pockets. Doin’ whatever I could to survive. Slept in alleyways. All I owned was the clothes and this ol’ hat of my pa’s.”

He takes off his hat and inspected it briefly before setting it down next to him. You grab one of his arms and run your thumb across his skin.

“One day, there was some feller in the town square, spoutin’ off somethin’ that had caught lot of people’s interests. I snuck into the crowd, swiping from people’s pockets. Saw this tall feller in the back of the crowd in a real fancy suit, figured he’d have a lot of money or a nice watch or somethin’. I snuck up behind him and put my hand in his coat pocket.”

You can tell by his voice he’s smiling.

“This big ol’ hand swung down on my shoulder. Looked up at the guy, big ol’ black moustache. He and the feller I was tryin’ to rob pulled me down some alleyway. Thought they were gonna beat me up or shoot me or somethin’. Instead, the one I tried to rob offered me somethin’. Told me I could come with him and his friend, start a new life, and they’d teach me how to be a proper crook. That was Hosea and Dutch. I been with ‘em ever since. That was a little more than 20 years ago.”

You squeeze his arm as the sun dips below the horizon, the water of the lake rippling its farewells. You tilt your head up to look at Arthur, his eyes finally returning to the present. He looks down at you and places a delicate kiss on your lips. You reach up and swipe your thumb across the scar on his chin.

“How’d an ugly ol’ outlaw like me get so lucky to be with someone as amazin’ as you, darlin’?”

Your smile fades. “Arthur, is that really how you see yourself?”

He huffs a bit, but you can tell by his eyes that he does see himself that way. You sit up and turn towards him.

“Arthur, you’re not any of those things. Okay, maybe you are an outlaw. But you’re not that old, I mean you’re only 36. At least you’re not Uncle. How long has that man been alive?”

He laughs. “Ah, he was old even when I was a boy!”

“Exactly!” you smile. “And as far as looks go, well, you’re far from ugly. In fact, you’re one of the most attractive men I’ve seen in a long time.”

He chuckles, looking down. “I know the company you’ve kept for the last few years, darlin’. Don’t sound like you got much to compare me to.”

“That don’t matter,” you say, putting your hand to his cheek and lifting his face up so he has to look at you. “You’re beautiful to me, Arthur. Isn’t that enough?”

He smiles, his eyes sparkling as he looks into yours. His arms tighten around you, pulling you into him. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, darlin’.”

You lean into his neck, breathing him in. Everything about this moment is perfect. “I love you, Arthur Morgan,” you mumble into his skin.

His arms loosen and his hands grab your shoulders gently, pulling you away.

“What did you say?” he looks at you hard. You wonder if you’ve made him angry.

“I… I said I love you.”

He stares at you for the next several seconds, his eyes dancing between yours. His face softens; it’s almost like he can’t believe what he heard. Finally, his face cracks into a smile.

“Well, I’ll be damned, sweetheart. I… I been wantin’ to say that to ya for the longest time.”

You blush. “So why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t think the feeling would be mutual.”

“Arthur,” you whisper, running your thumb across his cheekbone. You lean in and kiss him, feeling his hands wind into your hair. Your hand slides up to his chest, digging just under his collar to his clavicle. He hums loudly at your touch. After a moment, you break apart and lean your head against his shoulder again, watching the sun finish setting beyond the distant horizon.

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x oc #arthur x reader smut #smut #Van Der Linde Gang #second chances #i'm awkward #r* games #rockstar games #this might be terrible

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stunudo · 6 years

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Could I get a headcanon for whatever Matt keeps in that giant backpack of his??? It's huge! No one else on the team has a bag that big!

After traveling with the IRT Simmons regressed to full military survival packing. He has iodine tablets, a first aid kit, c rations and basic navigational tools. He could live a week in a jungle with everything he has packed in that bag. Luke understands, but he is more trusting as the BAU is nearly always in a city for a case.

“Dude, you got a pop tent in that thing?” Alvez nodded at the bag.

“No, but I do have a tinfoil blanket.” Simmons admitted.

“I thought the IRT was all the bells and whistles, you had vehicle storage on board, didn’t you?”

“Sure did, even brought a bike along.” Matt leaned back on the small seats of the BAU jet. “But you know how many times we were inches away from bushwhacking our way back to civilization?”

“Too many I guess?” Alvez playful grin fading as he looked out the window.

“Unsubs are everywhere, better be prepared.”

“So you were a boy scout, too?” Reid piped in to the conversation.

xoxo I love your observations!

#HC a la Stu #matt simmons #Simmons #Cm #Not spn #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Headcanons #darling sarah

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temporalecology · 3 years

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The term fieldwork is used pretty much everywhere, to the extent that it can refer to an array of different tasks. Prior to this fieldwork opportunity in Smithers, my impression of fieldwork was limited to the classroom setting – walking around as a class with profs in Pacific Spirit Park looking at ferns and mosses and take notes, very chill and sweet… Undoubtedly, our Smithers field work exposed me to a different flavour: a challenging, exciting, and itchy (shoutout to our “welcome committee”) one.

“Are you ready for a road trip?” It all began with Deirdre - our lovely grad supervisor (more like a friend) -picking us up on that cool Saturday morning. Wait, back up back up back up: it began with me intently shopping for fieldwork two weeks earlier, making sure I’ve got the right footwear and raingear (which turned out to be lifesaving). In fact, 3 days before our departure, Deirdre alerted us with an email saying, “the risk of fries in British Columbia is very high at the moment” (her typo: fires) that we would need to play by the ear and be extra cautious. Obviously, on the ride there, fire was one of the many topics that we covered.

The ride was quite fun: Deirdre and Sophia shared driving responsibility while I sat at the back and ate apples. We managed to land a spot on a campground in Prince George the first night and that was my first time camping. Who would have thought it only got better from there.

After another 5 hours of ride, we reached Smithers, a small town with vibrant sceneries. Getting groceries, having a home-cooked meal, and lying down on my bed in our little cabin, only one thing was missing: running water. Well, how greasy can I get without a shower for a week? I calmed myself and fell asleep.

The first couple of days of fieldwork were not too bad. The weather was great, and PI Lizzie and Johnathan were there for emotional support. After a series of bushwhacking and trying not to fall over, I had some sense of what the research was about: essentially, we are testing the Janzen-Connell hypothesis in Babine Mountains Provincial Park, trying to see if the density of seedlings and their proximity to parent trees limit their survival and growth potential. There are around 15 square-shaped plots established on Mount Harvey, each was 400 m2 in size. All the adult trees were tagged and taken diameter at breast height (DBH) measurement to yield information on stand density for species within each plot. Along the transect (diagonal) of each plot, there were 6 0.5*0.5 plots where we measured seedling height and took germinant counts. The year 2021 is the 3rd year the lab came to this site, and ideally, at least two more years of observations will be made.

Working in the field came with many challenges. First and foremost, hiking. Since we are examining the gradient effect of elevation, plots are all over the mountain. Every morning we would hike up, and each following day we hiked up a bit further. Deirdre and Sophia are super fit while I am more of a slow hiker, setting my heavy pace here and there. Another fun thing adding to the hike is how much you would sweat. Since we would start the day super early in the morning, it was quite cold and therefore, we wore multiple layers. As we hiked up, our clothes and hair got super wet because of the sweat. Then when we reached the top of the mountain, it became cold again given the elevation, especially under the canopy where there was no sunlight. It got freezingly cold as the wind blew, not to mention locations like this are perfect as the breeding ground of mosquitoes (what my friend and I call the “welcome committee,” because in the wild where you hardly encounter a single person, worry not, you are always welcomed by swarms of mosquitoes). The mosquito jacket, though unsightly, was a welcome plus one.

Walking in the forest itself is, difficult. It is more like crawling than walking, especially in forest stands where there are a ton of down snags. They are too high to go over, and the branches are incredibly poky. Finding the plots was another big challenge. Living in a modern city certainly does not prepare me for wayfinding in the wild. There is nothing to use as references. Every direction you look, you see the same dense understory. The ground is covered with thick carpets of mosses, leaf litters, and nurse logs, and finding a tiny germinant in such a setting is like finding one particular grain of sand on a beach.

Besides taking measurements of seedlings and germinants and identifying trees, we were also tasked to set up new 20*20 plots at higher elevations than did previously. This is super interesting to me because as an oftentimes clueless undergrad reading the method section of journal articles, despite seeing people say, “we had this many plots so and so,” I never used to think about how those plots were established. Again, in the wild, there is no reference to help set up the boundary, so GPS and compass are key. To delineate a square-shaped plot in a dense forest, we first determine one corner of the plot by selecting a lucky tree candidate and flag it. Then we want to take the measuring tape and walk – in this case – 20 meters straight following the compass. This sounds a lot easier than reality because when you picture walking 20 meters in your head, you picture walking on paved and level ground. Now think again, only this time picture a windy and rainy day walking in a dense forest with bushes above your waist and trees blocking your straight path ahead with painfully poky branches ready to mess with you (remember also the welcome committee). Moreover, you are not walking on level ground: the slope can get as high as 60 degrees plus, and you are at risk of falling to the ground at any moment. If you are not completely walking in a straight line, you will need to go back and redo the boundary. Once you are finally happy with the direction and straightness of the measuring tape in your hand, you select another tree closest to you after you’ve walked 20 meters and this tree becomes your second corner. You then change direction to find the next corner and hopefully, by the time you get to your last corner, you are not too off. Now that you have a plot, you then go on to sample within the plot, taking measurements of trees and soils and whatever is of your interest.

Most days are like this. We hike, we do some sampling, we eat sandwiches, we do some other sampling. Not having access to running water made me realize how bad it is that we take running water for granted in cities. However, one silver lining about being dirty is that I got to sit whenever and wherever I wanted in the forests. Because of the worsening of the wildfires, we had to head back to Vancouver earlier than planned, but good enough that we finished our tasks in time.

Some good perks we had during this field season included a couple of great hikes beyond the tree line (Hudson Bay Mountain), a visit to Jim Pojar’s house (the author of the BC plant book, my forestry friends were so jealous), the Kombucha beer Lizzie bought me, and the detour to Jasper, Alberta that we took on our way back to avoid the fires. With no doubt, this fieldwork was invaluable to me as it helped me gain insight into what field ecologists do and made me think about what kind of work, I would like to carry out for my graduate studies one day. I was quite tired after the fieldwork, but of course, I was barely scratching the surface here. On our way back to Vancouver, seeing the smoke of forest fires rise to the sky, so tragically beautiful that many people were taking pictures, I thought to myself: Patience, endurance, and curiosity are for sure, major ingredients to make a good scientist, and they are attributes that need cultivation. I hope there is something we can do for the planet’s tomorrow. I hope it is not too late.

- Alina Zeng, August 2021

#fieldwork

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