Mesa Trail ch. 7
Draft 3

"I got bodily into the apple barrel, and found there was scarce an apple left; but sitting down there in the dark, what with the sound of the waters and the rocking movement of the ship, I had either fallen asleep or was on the point of doing so when a heavy man sat down with rather a clash close by." – Stevenson, from Treasure Island


Some of the greatest adventures begin with fear or the poorest luck imaginable.  Imagine Jim Hawkins of Treasure Island having to put up with the old Sea Dog at the Admiral Benbow for all of those months. Sea Dog's demands, his serious instructions to Jim and his mother, menacing the place until Black Dog came along, that old and scary blind man. Long John Silver, who was he? Friend or foe? How could Jim know? Too young to understand the intricacies of greed or pressure.  All of them aboard the Hispaniola ship on its way to the Treasure Island itself where secrets and treachery began to rule the progress of the voyage.  Treasures have that way about them -- they loom there in the imagination, maybe not so much as something that can be used practically, but that are desired and that can be found. Can be found. That is the very motivation for the sailing of the seas, for the swashbuckling, for the finding of the 'X' s that mark the spots along the great trails of a wild unknown hidden beach.

That night it was Nevada that sparked the partnership for such an adventure. With a companion, the search was shared and the adventure confirmed, one more friend among the darkness, no secrets to tell, yet.  If the Mesa Trail could be conquered at night, what else could stop them?  As Hannah and Nevada reached Bear Canyon, the wind had picked up and blew straight through the thick jack pines above. If the trail was followed below them along the side of the 6500 foot high mountain, the adventurer would be able to see the continental divide, snow capped and out of reach, a bit like a hazy dream rising like a halo. Nevada didn't bark at the sounds slicing through the woods. Huskies were a lot of things but barker not one of them. Need a sled to be pulled? Find yourself a Husky. Need a loyal companion? Find yourself a Husky. Need yourself a fellow adventurer? Find yourself a Husky. "Good girl Nevada," said Hannah as she would quickly return from the fringes of the woods sniffing out any backcountry creatures and wag her tail at the innocent findings.   Contingency plans be darned. Who needs them when you've got a friend on the trail. Nevada shook her fluffy curled tail and most certainly was thinking the very same thing.

There it was, Bear Creek, the very one that was described, Hannah believed, in her great grandfather's old descriptions that were passed down by word of mouth entirely and that had been sniffed out by own two faithful dogs.  It looked like nothing more than a hidden trickle far above, but as it reached the flatter ground at the curve that then led down into the foothills, it too rushed, then deadened for a short stretch to a pool where the old sluice box sat like some kind of ancient jutting arm in a big wooden sleeve. Nevada had already sniffed her way right up to the edge of the rushing creek.  Husky's didn't particularly like water either, but who would blame them, especially at night, when the creek is loud and you can't see through it.

Hannah didn't know a good wood structure from one falling apart at the seams, but she quickly took her shoes off and waded into what she hoped to be shallow water.  If she could have screamed and gotten away with it, she would have.  She was back to contingency plans. Icicles began to form in her veins and her skin crawled with prickly goosebumps. Night water was colder than she thought it would be.  Nevada seemed to hold her paws to her eyes in disbelief. She edged her nose in toward the shallow bank. "Don't come in here Nevada. You might turn into a Huskysicle." Nevada belted out a slow whine, swiped her curled tail up toward the sky and stood still, watching.  She examined the top end of the box where a chute had been left open and a box with an old screen looked still something in tact.  There full stretches of the runners had pulled apart from the base of the sluice, but otherwise it was not falling over -- the legs still as sturdy as ever, dug into the stream who knows how deep.  "If they built it here then, that means there was a reason, Nevada," she said out loud, examing the flexibility of the rusted hinges.  As she stood there, the sun had now just made its very first upward wink behind them, out beyond the city of Boulder, where the horizon was flat, and it lent a few rays like a flashlight up along the rising of the chute.  Buried deep into the creases, underneath where the sides had come apart from the base, glimmered a short track of the finest of speckles.  "Nevada, don't tell anybody else we found gold here, ok?" she smiled and began to peal away the top layer of old wood. "Roof, roof," said Nevada.  "Shhhhh, be quiet girl," Hannah murmured under her breath.