Part 6: Fishing For Compliments


The forest around Handsome Lake
1330 (local)

Heather and I have been foraging for almost an hour now. The Ranger was right. We already have a good amount of nuts and berries. I’ve spied several stands of ferns that will make my flyboy’s heart soar but want to wait until we’re ready to return to the campsite to pick them. The fresher, the better. I’m bound and determined to win this competition. Not that I don’t already have him; I just can’t help myself when it comes to a Marine vs Navy survival skills contest.

At first Heather asked nervously if I was sure the berries we were picking were safe, but I think I finally convinced her I know what I’m doing.

After a recitation of my survival skills training and the use thereof (leaving out the classified parts, of course) she asks me what else I like to do.

I launch into an impassioned dissertation about the thrill of hunting ichnites and the joy of studying fossils. I proudly tell her I have an Icarosaurus skeleton of my very own that I’ve been working on for a few years.

Noticing that she’s been totally silent during my soliloquy, I look over to see a most astonished look on her face.

“Rocks and bones?” she asks incredulously.

“Ichnites and fossils,” I correct.

“Oh.”

I see the distinction is somewhat lost on her. Well, not everyone can appreciate the wonders of life hundreds of millions of years ago. That’s OK, just leaves more for us who do.

“I like to read,” she says.

“So do I. In fact, I almost always have more than one book going.”

That earns a baffled look. “You read more than one book at a time? How?”

“Well, not at the same exact time. In the same time frame. Like I’ll have a political history going and I’ll balance it with a murder mystery.”

“I just love romances. That’s almost all I read.”
Oh god, just when I was starting to like this woman she says that. “Oh really, what is it you like about them?”

“Well, I prefer the ones that are set in an earlier time. Ya know, like the 1800’s.”

This is getting worse by the moment. She’s not talking Danielle Steele or Nora Roberts potboilers, she’s deep into Harlequin territory. Bodice ripping and all.

“The men seemed so, I don’t know, manly. And the women were protected.”

The top of my head is threatening to come off, my dentist is gonna question me about the condition of my molars and it is only due to my military manicure that blood is not running down the palms of my tightly clenched hands.

“The story I’m reading now, well, I’ve been reading it for a while.”

What, she can’t seem to finish a 125-page formulaic piece of fluff printed in oversized type? Why on earth did Keeter marry this creature? Why did Harm and I both like her at first?

“How long have you been reading it?” I don’t know what perverse inclination drives me to ask that question, but I figure it is better than the truly evil desire to send her over into the nearby poison ivy cluster to ‘gather some greens’ for our supper.

“Gee, it seems like I’ve been following this love story for years now. A tall, dark, handsome man...”

“I thought those were the minimum requirements for a romance.” I’m trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice, really I am.

“A beautiful woman with a checkered past.”

Lord almighty, she actually sighs. I know it’s too late for an annulment, but Keeter’s got to get away from this woman. She has no brain!

“For years they work together under a tyrant, unable to tell each other of their love. You see, the tyrant forbid them loving one another.”

Damn. She’s looking at me with an intensity I can hardly believe. Maybe she’s more than brainless. Delusional, perhaps? And here I am, out in the wilderness with her. Great, just great.

“Heather, have you ever considered reading something set in modern time? Like when women are not chattel, men don’t have to protect them ‘cause they stand up for themselves and tyrants can not dictate who they can love.

Her face and body change from the Harlequin-romance-fogged dimwit back to the sharp woman I met yesterday morning.

“Mac, have you ever considered moving your life, and your relationship with Harm, into something set in modern time? Like when women are not chattel to the Marine Corps but have some say in what happens to them. Like when men don’t have to resign their commission to go after you because once again the CIA left you hanging out to dry. Like when the UCMJ couldn’t tell you who to love.”

Whoa. I’m thinking she doesn’t really read romances after all.

“Keeter put you up to this?”

“We worked on it together. But I don’t think he faked the bear attack on our campsite. He’s good, but he was with us all morning and he’s not that good.”


Handsome Lake campsite
1500 (local)

Heather and I get back, wash the berries, nuts and greens we’ve gathered then walk down to the water’s edge. We sit by the shore in a companionable silence for a while.

“Mac, I know I don’t know you, and I don’t know Harm, and I can not for the life of me figure out what kind of mean-spirited idiot wrote the regulations that are keeping you two apart. But I do know one thing: if everyone you two work with doesn’t see what is so blatantly obvious, you should both resign your commissions on Monday and head for Hollywood ‘cause you must be Oscar-caliber actors.”

“Heather, we’ve been partners and best friends for over seven years.”

“No way are you feeding me a ‘we’re just friends’ line, Mac. I could be blind, deaf and dumb and wouldn’t buy it.”

“No, the tango at your wedding reception changed that.”

“Whooo hooo! Man, that dance was so charged I was afraid you’d brownout lower Manhattan. Are you saying you’d never slept together ‘til that night?”

I nod, not feeling the need to explain the difference between the times we’d slept together and the time we finally slept together.

“It was a very hot dance.”

I laugh. “Nothing compared to the dance we did upstairs in his room!”
We’re laughing as I hear footsteps behind us. Oops, guess reliving that first time short-circuited my Harm-proximity-alert for a moment.

They plop down next to us, looking a little tanner than earlier and a lot smugger.

Brandishing a fishing bucket, Harm proclaims “we bring to you, our most precious ladies, a gift of four magnificent rainbow trout.”

Heather and I make appropriately appreciative murmurs accompanied by chaste cheek kisses and “my hero’s”.

“But there’s more! Yes, my ladies fair, your handsome princes have gathered for you a rare delicacy of the stream!” Harm reaches into the bucket and pulls out a bunch of greens. “Watercress!”

OK. I can accept this defeat with dignity.

“What’d you guys find?” Keeter asks.

“Nuts, berries and some ferns.” Heather sounds a little dejected. Hey, woman, figure it out, no matter who ‘won’, we all win.

“A veritable feast!” Harm’s on a Shakespearean roll. Maybe a trifle too much sun?

“I proclaim this night to be a night of feasting, revelry and debauchery!” He thrusts his finger in the air to punctuate his words.

“But no sex!” Keeter, Heather and I chorus back to him.

“Well, that does take the edge off the debauchery part,” he admits, “but we’re all creative enough to muddle through anyhow.”


Handsome Lake campsite
1830 (local)

Dinner was pretty spectacular. The watercress made a salad that screamed ‘fresh’ with every bite. Harm toasted the nuts then barely wilted the ferns with them. A squeeze of lemon that our intruder didn’t want and it was an exotic taste treat. The trout was sweet, firm and done to perfection. The berries made a lovely, light dessert to finish it off.

We’re all relaxing around the campfire, digesting our dinner and our day.

“Hey, Mac, come’re.” Harm’s sitting on a log and he pats the ground between his legs. Oh, my favorite Harmalounger. He doesn’t have to ask me twice.
I scoot over and settle between his legs, leaning back into him like I always do.

“EEAAOUHWW!!!” Harm screams in pain, jumps up and bends over grabbing his crotch.

“Harm?” three voices say at once. Keeter jumps up to go to Harm’s aid and starts the same dance.

Heather and I exchange worried looks.

“Guys, what *exactly* did you do this afternoon that you haven’t told us about?”

They’re both still bent over but they’ve stopped jumping around. They’re both panting and holding their jeans away from their crotch, most gingerly I notice.

It’s their turn to exchange glances.

“It was warm,” Keeter starts.

“The water looked good,” Harm continues.

Why do I get the feeling this is them defending their idiocy again?

“We didn’t want to get our clothes wet.” Keeter makes it sound so reasonable.

“So we took them off.” Should’ve known Harm would do the summation.

“And left them off, eh?” Too bad he momentarily forgot I’m a good cross-examiner.

“Yeah,” they groan. At least they’re sticking together on this.

“While you fished for like, what, two hours this afternoon?”

“Something like that, I wasn’t paying much attention to the time.”

I’m too stunned to say anything, but Heather’s not.

“You fried the family jewels!?!”

“How could we know you could get sunburned in September?” Harm’s whining. Or whimpering. Or some combination of the two.

“How ‘bout the fact that *that* part of your body hasn’t seen a lot of sun this summer? Or has it?”

“Maac.”
OK, clearly time for triage.

“Heather, I have a first aid kit with some unscented sunburn cream. While I get it, why don’t you fish a couple of cold water bottles out of the cooler? Give one to Harm, take one yourself. Get Jack into the tent and help him get his pants off. Harm, meet me in our tent.”

Yeah, a Marine’s gotta do what a Marine’s gotta do. And I gotta do this without laughing I know, but it’s not gonna be easy.

I find the kit, thank the gods that look out for 40 year old little boys that there are two tubes of unscented sunburn cream, small but unopened. I help Harm get his pants off, then his boxers. Holy shit! That’s got to really hurt.

I hand him the cold water bottle, propping the rest of our gear behind him so he can sit up without strain. I toss him a t-shirt saying “wrap the bottle in the shirt and use it to cool yourself off.”

He gives me a look like he doesn’t quite understand.

“Well, you could put the bottle on the ground between your legs and just kinda drape yourself over it.” Need I get more graphic?

Guess not as he moves to follow my advice.

“I’ll be right back. Gonna take this tube to Heather.”

“Heather,” I call through the front of their tent. “Stick your hand out, I’ll give you the cream.”

Done.

“Look, that’s all we’ve got, so use it judiciously. Be sure you have some fabric between the water bottle and, uhum, Jack. I’m gonna fill up our other water bottles and put them in the lake to cool them down. If Jack looks anything like Harm, they’re gonna need ‘em. I’m gonna go help Harm; I’ll come back in a while, OK?”

I hear a moan from Jack and a weak “OK” from Heather.

Back in our tent I examine the contents of the first aid kit for anything else that might be of use. Great. Aspirin. I give two to Harm and hustle two over for Jack.

Kneeling back beside Harm I examine the damage. Sure hope it looks better in the morning or there’s no way these guys are gonna be able to fly. And I just can’t wait to listen to Harm explain why to the Admiral.
“Harm, do you want to apply the cream or do you want me to do it?”

“As much as I usually love you stroking me, I think I better do this myself.”

He begins to apply the cream. “Ouch! That hurts! How’d it get burned on that side?”

“Harm, you’re familiar with how water reflects sunlight, right?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Hey, Mac?” It’s Heather. “Do you guys have any sunburn cream you can spare? We’ve run out.”

“Let me tell you in a few minutes, okay?” I hear her walk away.

“No, no, no way, Mac. Keeter is *not* gonna need more sunburn cream than me. We should be asking him for his leftover.”

“Harm, this is not a contest.”

“Wanna bet?”