TheAlpines
Golfball-sizedpebblescrunchedunderneathmyfeetasIlookedoutonthesheetofglass thatwasanalpinelake.Themountaininfrontofmelookedlikeasadoldgiant,sleepingdeeply astheearlymorningsunwarmedthedarkgrayrocks.Ononesideofthelake,ahundredfeet below,wasthesiteofwhathadoncebeenamassivelandslide,withbouldersthesizeofschool busesjuttingoutofthewater.Otherthanthatfarend,therestoftheshorewasgracefulsolid rock,withtheoccasionalgravelbarbreakingupthelandscape.Severalpeaksaroundmewere sprinkledwithsnow,asifpowderedsugarhadbeensiftedontothejaggedrockledges.Theglass ofthewaterwasbrokenbyafishsplashingonthenearendofthelake,almostcertainlytaking aninsectthathadbeenunluckyenoughtofinditselfinthewater.Igrippedontomyflyrodtube strappedonmypack,onceagaincheckingthatallwassecure.Ibegantoundertakethetaskof navigatingontotheboulders,headingdownthepeakandintothesparsesagebrushandspruce thatdottedtheland.
Bythetimemyfeettouchedthesolidrockshorethatmadeitswayintothegravel-laden lakebed,thesunhadmadeitswaycompletelyintothesky Itookoffmyheavypack,andthe chillymountainbreezetookthesweatfrommybackasIlookedoverthedeep,clearwater A littledowntheshorewasthebeginningofastream,funnelingoutofthelake,whichtumbled downthedamofrocksbeforeeventuallyslowingmanyfeetbelow,andwhichwouldleadallthe waydowntotheendofthemountainrange,leadingtotheMissouririver,and,oneday,would entertheGulfofMexicoviatheMississippi.Butatthemoment,itwascoldmountainwaterthat hadneverseenahuman’stouch.
Iunstrappedmyrodtube,puttingtogetherthefoursectionsofmyflyrod,before screwingonthereelandtyingonafly Icastedouttoasteepdropoff,andbeganworkingmyfly in.Theglintofafishcaughtmyeye.
Afterthesunroseintheskyalittlemore,perhapsahalfanhour,perhapsmore,Itooka longdrinkfromthelake.Ittastedalmostsweet,andwasascoldasicewater.Ihadcaughtfiveor sixtrout,oneofwhichIkeptforlunchandwasinthewateronamakeshiftstringer.Theothers, however,hadbeenreleasedcarefullybackintothewater,andweresoonseencruisingtheshore onceagain.
AsIcastedmyflytoalargetrout,Inoticedacolossalmaleelkontheslopebehindme. Hishairwasthecoloroffreshbakedbread,andhenimblypickedhiswayacrossthelooserocks highabove.Hisantlerswerealsomassive,andappearedaswideasIwastall.Helookedt obe thedefinitionofstrengthandcoordination,withhispowerfullegsboundingacrosstheledges. Thelooserocksappearedtobarelyclingonashesteppedfrombouldertoboulder.Soonenough, hestoppedonawideledgethatheldsomesortofgrass,andbegannibblingonthem.
Ittookmanymorefishandthesunlighttogethighintheskyformetofeelapangof hungerdeepinsidemystomach.Ididn’twanttostartafire,asrainwasnearlynonexistenthere andeverything,exceptforthelake,wasasdryasadesert,andsomeareasevenhadsmall, olive-browncactusesgrowinglowtotheground.Itookoutasmallstovefrommypack, unfoldingshortlegsthatkeptthestovestableontheground.
Afterretrievingmycutthroattroutfromthelake,Ifrieditinsomevegetableoilwitha littlesalt,andateitoffofthethin,hairlikebonesofthefish.Ittastedlikebutter,andwassoftin mymouth.Theskinstillhadtheblackspotsandthereddishpatternthatthetroutoncehadwhile itwasswimming,carefreeandnotaresponsibilityintheworld.Ilookeduptoseetheelk,ona differentledgebutinthesamegeneralarea.HemustnothaveknownIwasthere,orthatIwas notathreatattheveryleast,ashewasn’tparticularlyfarawayfrommeandcouldprobablyhave runawayatanymoment.Iturnedaroundonceagain,staringatthelakeandthepeaksthat surroundedit.
Andthat’swhenIheardit.
Therumbledidn’tsoundlikemuchatfirst.Moreofascrapingnoisethananythingelse, andwhenmyheadwhirledaround,Icouldseeseveralsmall,perhapstorso-sizedbouldersflying downthe nearlyverticalmountainslopedirectlyaboveandbehindme,butalittletomyright. Butasitrammedintootherrocks,Ifeltmystomachdrop.ItwaslikeaRubeGoldbergmachine, looseningbiggerandbiggerbouldersthatbeganrollingdownthemountainside.Istoodupin fearasthecharcoal-coloredboulderssmashedtheirwaydownthemountain.Istartedrunning towardsthelakeastherocksbegantoflydowntheslope,somealreadysmashingpastmeat unimaginablespeeds.Therocksweremakingthegroundshake,thetremblingknockingme aroundlikeatoyboatatsea.Thedeeprumblingfilledtheairlikeaterrifying,low-pitched tornadosiren.
Amassivelandslide.
Iglancedbehindmeforafractionofasecond,butwhatIsawmademetastevileinthe backofmythroat.
Therocksweremultiplyingnow.Tens.Hundreds.Thousands.
Iwashalfwaytothelake,butmymindstartedtoracewiththethoughtofwhatIcoulddo onceIgotthere.Therockswouldn’tstop.Theywouldn’tfloat.Norwouldtheyslowdowninthe least.
ThenIsawit.Asprucebiggerthananyotheraroundme,fortyyardsorsoinfrontofme andriddledwiththick,deadbranchesatthebaseformetoclimb.
Thirtyyardsout.Jaggedrockswereracingpastme,rippingoutthegroundalongtheway. Twentyyardsout.Aboulderthesizeofasmallcarboundedovermyheadbecauseof anotherslowerone,smashingintothegroundjustfeetinfrontofme.
Tenyardsout.Smallersprucewerebeingrippedoutofthegroundeasierthanaweed wackerdestroysadandelion.
Iwasthere.Climbing,rippingupmyhandsontheroughbarkasIleapedupthetree.A head-sizedrocksmashedintomyleg,butIkeptclimbing.Soonenough,mybodywasabovethe rockslide.Ilookedoveratthesteepmountaincliff,wheretheboulderswerepeelingawayfrom thesideofthenaturalstructure,creatinggreatexplosionsofdirtandsmallerstonesastheyfell. Thebottomofthetreewasbeingsmashedandscrapedasrocks,smallandlarge,ranintoit,some ofwhichshatteredonimpact.Thestoneswererunningthemselvesintothelake;thecobbles buildingupandbackingupaspartoftheshorelinewasbeingfilledin.
Soontherumblingslowed,andnotlongafterstoppedcompletely,leavingsilence.Not thesilenceofliving,butthesilenceofnothing.Thesoundofnothingliving,ofnothingdeadand nothingatall.
Justsilence.
Iclimbeddownthetreeafterseveralminutesofjuststaringatthejaggedlandscape.I stumbledaroundthenowcompletelyrawland,dottedwithmassivebouldersasIcamecloserto thelake.Soonenough,IcameuponsomethingIwashopingIwouldn’t. Thegiantmaleelkwas buriedunderdozensofrocks,beaten,bruised,anddead.Hisfurwasnolongerthecolorof homemadebread,butofbrownishgraydust,charcoalgrayrockshards,andthedullredofblood. Allofthatliving,comingtoanendinaninstant.
Iwasthenremindedofhowpreciouslifeis,andhowitcanbegoneinablinkofaneye. Theelkwasjustanotherexampleoflife’suncertainties,arandomluckofthedraw Agrainof sandonabeach,araindropinahurricane,asnowflakeonamountaintop.
Mybackpack,somehow,hadbeenoutofthelandslides’path,aswasmyflyrod.Ididn’t evenbotherlookingformystoveoranyofmycookingimplements,butmerelystaredoutatthe lake,nowstillonceagain.Theafternoonsunlightwarmedmyskin,agoldenglowamidst moundsofgrayrock.
Istarteddownthemountainouspathafewminuteslater AsIroundedacorneronthe barren,rockylandscape,alargebullelkpickedhiswayacrossacliffaheadofme.Hebounded frombouldertoboulder,hismassiveantlersglintinginthesunlight.