Chapter Ten #2
Caroline moved to unlatch the gate, walking it back to open up the road.
Once she was fully out of the way, Mo drove past the ranger and down the hill, curving around thickets and clumps of common deciduous trees.
At the bottom of the curve sat a decently sized shed made from redwood, the front barn door already swung out.
Mo pulled into an obvious space next to the shed, parking and turning off the car without much fanfare.
The sour mood of the car was too much for Aspen, so she jumped out and trotted toward the open door.
“Betty?” Aspen called out as she rounded the corner, the darkness of the shed taking her eyes a bit to adjust to.
“I’ll be out in a second,” the high-pitched and brisk voice of Betty returned, bringing a small smile to Aspen’s face.
“No rush,” Aspen responded, looking back toward the car where Mo still sat. “Seems like we have time.”
After a few small clatters and clangs, Betty emerged from the darkness, a small green box and hammer in her hands. “Good morning, Aspen.”
“Morning,” Aspen sang back, leaning down to hug the woman.
Betty Kellog, barely over five feet on a good day, hugged her back tightly before releasing her.
Aspen noticed her straight black hair was in a braided bun today, contrasting nicely with her lightly golden pale skin.
Her slightly wrinkled skin and random gray hairs lied to newcomers, barely letting on that she was proudly in her early eighties and going strong.
Aspen swore the ranger outfit was sewn onto Betty years ago, since she had never seen her not wearing it.
It was her daily decision on whether to wear the campaign hat that denoted the level of professionalism she wanted to exude on any particular day.
Betty was one of Aspen’s heroes, and not even Mo’s mood could ruin a cherished interaction.
“I’ve been thinking,” Betty began in her usual business voice.
“Good thoughts, I hope.”
“About the wind phone in particular.”
Worry flooded Aspen, and she looked toward Mo’s direction, noticing the woman was now fiddling around in her pack by the trunk. If they couldn’t install the phone, would Mo even want to continue the trip with her?
“I think that it’s the monument I’ve been looking for,” Betty continued, relieving Aspen’s anxiety instantly. “I’ve told Chuck and Ben that I had more things to accomplish before retirement, and well, I’ve not quite been known for community outreach.”
“That might be true,” Aspen admitted. “But you’ve kept everyone together and the park maintained, even with not much in the way of facilities or staff.”
Betty nodded in agreement. “Yeah, it’s never been easy. I had to cut down on events and engagement, which was fine back in the day because people were amazed enough with tall trees. But nowadays, people want something more.”
“Yeah.”
Betty turned, pointing the hammer in Mo’s direction. “That her?”
“Yep.”
“Wind phone idea hers or yours?”
“Mine,” Aspen said, her eyes firmly on Mo, who was putting on her new jacket. “But she is the inspiration for it.”
“I think it’s a good idea. A great idea, even. I’d say putting it near the Tall Tall Trees trail would be best—”
“Huh-uh,” Aspen cut her off but kept her gaze fixed on Mo. “I’d prefer it be an adventure. Like maybe one of the forks past Bridge Creek?”
“Hmm. Make it an actual hike, huh?”
“Yeah.” Aspen finally turned to face Betty again.
“I can maintain it, even if I have to get permission to use an access road. It’s just a phone on a tree, it shouldn’t cause much in the way of disturbance.
And if it catches on, we can place a marker on maps for dispersed campers to visit it.
Maybe even build it a shelter of sorts? Nothing too drastic. ”
“Bridge Creek is six or so hours of straight hiking from here, not even an hour or two from Tall Tall Trees if you are experienced. Maybe make it one of the farther creek forks? Especially since we adjusted and opened more dispersed camping south of 44 Camp.”
“I planned for a week or two of backpacking,” Aspen explained. “Since she’s not as experienced, I’m thinking of maybe backpacking as far down as Devil’s Creek, going up into a few groves, and not going my usual breakneck speed.”
“Shouldn’t take more than a week unless you really lollygag,” Betty said evenly. “Here.”
Aspen watched as Betty held out the hammer and small cardboard box. She took them easily, letting the weight of the hammer drop to her side. “Tree nails?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Betty confirmed. “No redwoods. Make sure the chosen tree is healthy and easily accessible. Take lots of pictures, if you can. That way I can get Caroline to make a slideshow for the bigwigs. They love slideshows.”
“Thank you, Betty. I am so excited.”
“Me too, actually. I might use it after all is said and done. Now…” Betty turned fully toward Mo, who was now quietly sitting on her tailgate. “I need to approve a backpacking permit.”
Aspen turned to look at Mo, who was fiddling with a small object, a pained expression painted across her features.
This part scared her. Aspen went to stop Betty to explain, but she was too quick, already marching over to Mo with purpose, so Aspen took charge in order to soften what would be Betty’s grittier introduction.
“Mo! This is Betty, the park ranger I was telling you about.”
Mo didn’t stand, only turning to nod in Betty’s direction before holding out a weak hand to shake. “Mo Reeves.”
“Ranger Kellog,” Betty replied formally. “Do you have experience?”
“Uh…uh, well,” Mo stuttered, shoving whatever she had just been messing with into her front pocket. “Yeah. Not as much as Aspen, but yeah.”
“Got water filtration?”
“Uh…” Mo looked to Aspen, who nodded. “Yep.”
“Food?”
“Aspen is bringing it.”
“Bear vault?”
“Bears need vaults?” Mo tilted her head, confusion obvious.
“Trick question. I know Aspen has the food,” Betty teased. “Are you a serial killer?”
“Not in this life, but maybe in a past one.”
That reply got a small lip twitch out of Betty, and Aspen relaxed, knowing the trip would continue as scheduled.
“I’ll risk it.” Betty swiveled toward Aspen. “Think you could scout a good place for the memorial to that family from last season?”
“Two birds, one stone,” Aspen said.
“I’m satisfied. You have your permit. Two weeks max.
Call me after you both get back, and we will meet to discuss and look at the pictures,” Betty finished, her short legs already moving her toward the parking lot.
But just as she passed Mo, she turned and reminded her, “Get Aspen killed, and I’ll send you to your maker myself. ”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mo agreed, watching as Betty made her way up the hill. “Wow.”
“You did it,” Aspen congratulated Mo, walking forward to squeeze her arm before storing the hammer and nails in her pack. “All we have left is the hike. Got the phone?”
Mo turned and reached over her pack, grabbing the phone from the car. “Yeah, I didn’t have room in my bag.”
“I can hang it off my pack, if you’d like,” Aspen offered, her lower lip subconsciously sliding between her teeth as she watched Mo’s reaction.
“Okay.” Mo placed the phone next to Aspen. “Doesn’t need to work, I guess.”
“Oh, it’ll work,” Aspen replied happily, easily stringing some paracord through the mounting holes and to the rear of her pack, making sure to use one of her better knots.
Mo scoffed loudly, lifting her pack to a sitting position before maneuvering herself in front of it.
The noise was almost painful for Aspen, reminding her all too well of her time before Orick.
Before she only had Virginia, Salvador, and the trees.
She rolled her shoulders in an attempt to shrug it off, but she kept her eyes on Mo even when she knew she should be getting ready to go.
She watched as Mo adjusted the pack’s straps before attempting to put it on, her hands dancing around the buckles and snaps in confusion.
Aspen held herself back from correcting her, still feeling the frustration from being brushed aside all morning.
Mo’s lanky arms were twisted in weird directions as she leaned backward to slide her pack over her shoulders and onto her back.
Aspen thought Mo looked more like a gangly dog adjusting to booties than a decently experienced hiker.
The pack was sitting entirely too high on Mo’s shoulders, looking more like a weird growth than a bag.
She had to hold herself back from helping as Mo completely ignored the waist strap, instead only snapping the chest one.
“What?” the taller woman gruffed, annoyed confusion all over her face.
“Nothing.” Aspen smiled tightly, reaching to properly put her on her own pack.
As she worked her own straps in the correct process, Mo wandered back and forth while constantly adjusting the pack.
Once the weight was properly distributed to her hips instead of upper back, Aspen grabbed her hiking poles from the side strap and engaged them to the proper height.
“Ready?” Mo asked impatiently, rolling her shoulders in discomfort.
Aspen wanted to help her—she really did—but this was a lesson Mo was going to learn the hard way.