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| May 11, 2020 Shelton Mason County Journal |  |
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Thursday, June 11, 2020 Shelton-Mason County Journal Page A—39
Trail: Long ‘what-do-I-do now’ moment alone
continued from page A-37
her little girl. Making a
new friend is one thing,
but spending two or
three nights in the wild,
living close together,
depending on each
other for food, shelter,
safety —— a camping trip
that goes bad can scar a
new relationship before
it has a chance to grow
strong. '
I felt an additional
weight, as I always do, r
when leading hunters,
even my own family, in
search of mushrooms.
Everyone’s success
depends on you. Al-
low yourself to project
optimism, and you tele-
graph expectations.
Expectations, unfor-
tunately, are but one
spinning side of the dis-
appointment coin. Tails,
you fall.
That’s when I did
the jig'. Instead of going
for the sure spot, at the
top where the two Lib-
erty roads join, I nosed
the car down and onto
a spur road that was
barely familiar to me,
having taken it once
perhaps 10 years ago.
In no time at all the
road deteriorated into
a jumbled, rocky pair of
ruts. Sharp rocks and
high-centered troughs
had me working the
clutch and bouncing as
I ground my way, inch
by inch, between brakes
and first gear.
Linda got out to ride
with Becky, who now
trailed last behind.
Chuck, his face in the
windshield tight with
concern, also held back.
A minute later there
was no one in my mir-
rors.
I couldn’t find a spot
wide enough to turn
around. I climbed on
and on, the car rock-
ing with the contours
of what had become a
beastly wagon trail. Ev-
ery sharp rock wanted
to claim a tire. I was
alone on a high moun-
tain shoulder, trapped
and clenching the
wheel, regretting the
moment I had turned
down that road.
Then it blew. The
radiator on the Subaru
billowed with steam. As
soon as _I saw the heat
gauge—tipped up past
red—I cut the engine.
But at the very same
moment a loud bang
rocked the car. The
hood hissing a white
cloud, bubbling green
fluid spurted out the
grille, pooling beside
the front tire. As I got
out, the smell of anti-
freeze hung over me
and the ticking, sizzling
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Subaru.
I was totally alone.
I felt a wave of shock.
The hood was too hot to
touch.
THE MUSHROOM,
THE MUSE
I have little space
left to wrap up my tale.
That’s unfortunate, as
the next five minutes
proved to be one of the
longest “What-do—I-do-
now?” moments in my
life.
I walked back to find
my wife and friends,
parked a third of a
mile away. I must have
made an odd sight,
coming, on foot, from
far away. Linda wore a
puzzled look, the kind
that says, “Where is my
car?”
There is a muse —
an inkling, an instinct
—— you follow when
you hunt mushrooms.
Sometimes it gets you
in trouble (mostly lost
in the forest for an hour
or two), but by large
degree the muse is a
useful, valuable friend.
It is the spirit of adven-
ture. It is chance paired
with a treasure chest.
It’s why I don’t mind
sharing my failures and
embarrassments, for
they’re not really em-
barrassing at all.
I stumble around.
But I find a lot of water-
falls, too. In my experi-
ence, you can’t have one
without the other.
So, we determined
the radiator was
cracked along the top,
totally useless. AAA
does not cover misad-
ventures on National
Forest roads. Towing of
any kind did not seem
promising.
Chuck, God bless
him, talked me into
believing we could start
fresh tomorrow morn-
ing — after a breakfast
of coffee, morels, cheese,
sausage and eggs, as
a matter of fact and
drive my car slowly out V
of the meadow, then
downhill all the way to
the pass.
“Your engine oil is
, fine,” he said. “Watch
'your temperature
. gauge and honk when it
climbs past center. We’ll
stop and wait until it
cools, then go again.”
We set up camp and
tried not to think about
‘ the disabled vehicle.
Chuck Walked off and
found a'healthy, mas-
sive king bolete, the
prized porcini famous
for its fragrant yellow
tubes, which can be
dried to make a flavor-
ful bullion powder.
Even the mighty
morel bows to the king
Skipworth's
1603 Olympic Highway North I Shelton.
360-426-0875 I skipworths.com
bolete. With individual
mushrooms weighing
a pound or more, the
bolete reigns over all
edible fungus.
We ate well that
night, letting our wine
take away our worries.
The best joke around
the campfire was the
one where Mr. Armed
and Dangerous appears
out of the dark, holds
a gun to my head, and
demands the keys to a
getaway car.
Indeed, as Chuck
predicted, the next
morning I was able to
climb out of that mead-
ow and coast 2 miles
downhill in neutral, not
once overheating. _
That night we were
home safe, and our car
towed to the shop, too.
From now on, we’ll
always give a tongue-
in-cheek meaning to the
name Blewett Pass.
I Mark Woytowich is
a writer, photographer,
video producer and
author of “Where Water-
falls and Wild Things
Are.” He lives in Pot-
latch with his “On the
Trail” column appear-
ing every other week in
the Journal. Reach him
at his website, www.
wherewaterfallsare.com,
or by email at eyefive@
hctc.com. ’
Lake Limerick
golf results
Two-person scramble
June 3 at Lake Limerick
Golf Club
Women’s division—low gross:
Dreann Merriman and Abby
Slone, 39; low net: Joyce Reyn-
olds and Kerry Torkelson, 29.
Men’s division—low gross: Aar—
on Broumley and Scott Hubble,
37; low net—Budd Morrow and
Terry Morrow, 28.
Mixed division—low gross:
Kerry Torkelson and Javier
Martinez, 37; low net: Arden
Merriman and Patty Merriman,
21.55.
Closest to the pin, No. hole,
women—Renie Dyson, 6 feet, 5
inches; men—~Alvaro Lopez, 8-2.
Longest drive, No. 3 hole, wom-
en—Nadine Dunning; men—Ja-
vier Martinez.
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