Part 7: Cooling Off


Handsome Lake campsite
Sunday, September 24
0600 (local)

I carefully crawl out of the tent, thankful that Harm has finally been able to get some sleep. He was up half the night. I doled out more aspirin to the two of them and we kept the cold water bottles rotating.

I’ve got the fire and coffee started when Heather joins me.

“Jack asleep?”

“Finally.” She’s clearly not had a great night either.

“Did you get a chance to peek this morning? Does it look any better?

“Couldn’t see. Could you?”

“No.”

“So, did you really use all your sunburn cream?” I ask her.

“Nah, but Jack couldn’t pass up the opportunity to yank Harm’s chain.”

We exchange a knowing glance then sit in silence, waiting for the coffee to be done.

“We’ve got cold water bottles ready for when they wake up, but I think we need to strongly consider getting medical attention. And you two may not be expected at work tomorrow, but Harm and I are. Good god, Heather. How am I gonna explain this to the Admiral?”

We look at each other and burst out laughing.

“I know it must be incredibly painful but jeez, how stupid can you be to hang your pecker out in the sun for two hours? Over water no less!” She’s gasping a bit; I’m biting my hand trying to stifle the raucous guffaws that are straining to burst loose.

We allow our shoulders to shake for a minute more, then pull ourselves together.

Heather takes a deep breath. “I think you’re right about medical attention. The closest hospital is in Warren, about 15 miles west as the crow flies but you’ve gotta go southeast around the park to get to a bridge. The Ranger Station at Bradford might be able to give us information about closer help, but they don’t open ‘til 8 AM. I have their phone number but I’m betting our cells won’t work out here. I also thought about going back to the airport. Gee, don’t they have to have emergency medical response teams on-call 24/7?”

This is sure no dimwit.

“How d’you know all this, Heather?”

“Jack got it off the Internet. He’s a real Boy Scout when it comes to the ‘be prepared’ thing.

“Maaac.”

“Heatherrrr.”

Guess the boys are awake. We grab fresh cold bottles and trot to our respective patient.

“Here, Harm. It’s nice and cold. Just be sure to wrap it up in the t-shirt.”

He takes the bottle from me and redefines ‘baleful’ with his glance.

I hand him two more aspirins and what’s left of the sunburn cream.

“Harm, how are you feeling compared to last night? Better, worse, about the same?”

“What, are you now ‘Mac-us Welby’?”

He sees my hurt expression and immediately repents. “Sorry, Mac. I feel awful. I feel stupid, too. But, actually, it’s not as bad as last night.”

I review the medical options with him. As expected, he balks. I remind him that it doesn’t look like either he or Keeter will be physically able to pilot us back to DC today. I ask him to consider what we might tell the Admiral.

His mood gets progressively darker.

Eventually he agrees that I should drive to the Ranger Station, find the closest medical advice and seek it out.

OK. We’ve got a plan.


Bradford Ranger Station
Sunday, September 24
0800 (local)

I’m waiting in the parking lot when a green jeep with an Allegheny National Forest decal on the side pulls in. Out steps the Ranger from yesterday.

“Ma’am. You didn’t have more bear trouble, did you?” He looks genuinely concerned.

“No, more like sun trouble. Man trouble. Trouble with men not thinking about the sun.” OK, guess I’m kinda stretched a little thin right now.

“Why don’t we go inside and I’ll see what I can do to help.” He’s clearly befuddled by my statement but recognizes I need help of some kind.

He unlocks the station door, turns on the lights, offers me water as he starts the coffee then turns toward me with an expectant look.

“Now, might you be a little more specific about the trouble you’re having?”

I relate the problem to him, trying my best to not make Harm and Keeter sound profoundly clueless. I finish off with, “and since we flew here in a private plane, and they’re the pilots, we’re stuck until they can comfortably sit for four hours or more.”

He must have a military background ‘cause he doesn’t crack a smile. Although I do detect a certain straining at the jaw line.

“Actually, ma’am, your two guys are far from the first to suffer this way. You’ve been doing all the right things, so far. Keep it up. You need more aspirins?”

I nod my assent and he reaches behind him into a cabinet.

“How ‘bout more cream?”

My head bobs again; he reaches into his magic cabinet again.

“You think you’re gonna need to spend another night before they’re ready to sit in the cockpit,” we share a smile at that word under the circumstances, “for the the time it’ll take you to fly back if you take the shortest route?”

I’m beginning to feel like a bobble doll.

“OK, let me check your campsite schedule. This time of year it shouldn’t be a problem.” He boots up his computer, clicks a few keys, then enters in our data. The printer rumbles and out pops a new permit for us.

“Here you go, all set. Now, you need to call Bradford Regional about your plane and your various employers?”

God, this guy is good. In just a few minutes he’s made me feel so much better.
“Yes.”

He points over to an empty desk. “Make yourself comfortable over there and take all the time you need. Don’t worry about long distance, we’re on a government plan line....well, you know about those being a Marine and all.”

I sit down at the desk and pull out all the papers Heather gave me. Those two really had it together, even for this bizarre contingency. I call the lead partner for the Mooney and clear the additional day with him. I call the airport. I call Bud and Harriet. Then I get ready to call the Admiral. Harm and I discussed what I’m supposed to say, but I have my doubts it’s gonna get by Chegwidden.

Oh well, here goes.

“Chegwidden.”

“Admiral, sir. It’s Colonel MacKenzie.”

“As if I can’t recognize your voice, or that underlying level of tension in it. Are you and Harm alright? Weren’t you going on a flying trip this weekend?”

I cross my fingers. “Yes, sir, we did. I’m fine, but Harm and Jack Keeter had a slight fishing accident and need a day to recuperate before they can pilot us back.”

Pause. I cross the fingers on my other hand.

“Fishing accident? A boating accident?”

“No, sir. A fishing accident.”

“Colonel, what aren’t you telling me?”

“They suffered some overexposure.”

“Overexposure to fish?”

I don’t have any more fingers to cross so I hold my breath.

I hear the chuckle that always starts so low with him. “They cooked their crotches, didn’t they?”

Can’t not honestly answer a direct question from my CO. “Yes, sir, they did.”

“Jeez, Mac, where were you? You didn’t knowingly let them do this, did you?”

Oh my god, is he asking if I’ve seen Harm naked? If I was there naked, too? And with Keeter?
“NO, SIR! Heather, Keeter’s wife, and I were gathering nuts and berries for our dinner. We were nowhere near them.”

“What, you guys didn’t take food along?”

“Well, a bear kinda got most of that when it trashed our campsite.”

A longer pause.

“Colonel, tell the Commander he should take the time he needs to heal enough to be able to safely pilot a plane, and hopefully father children in the future. But when you two do get back, I expect a full, complete and very detailed briefing about this trip.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I will, we will, sir.”

“And Mac, I think that briefing’s gonna best be given over a nice dinner.” A little harumph. “Let me know if your status changes.”

“Yes, sir.”

I sit back. Well now. I would’ve never predicted that.

I walk back to the Ranger and he looks up. “All set?”

“Yes, sir. I can’t thank you enough. I do have one more question, since you seem to be familiar with this kind of situation. Could it cause fertility problems?”

“Heavens no!” he exclaims. “Well, I doubt either one is going to be hot to trot ‘til they’re pain free. But no, I’ve never heard of lingering effects on fertility. Only lingering jokes about sizzling sausages, roasted nuts, that kind of thing.”

“Thanks again, Ranger.”

“Glad to be of help, ma’am.”

I’m once again a happy camper as I drive back to Handsome Lake.


Handsome Lake campsite
0940 (local)

I hand Heather a fresh tube of cream, a packet of aspirins and a new cold water bottle through their tent flap.
“Jack, can you hear me?”

I take his grunt as a ‘yes’ and fill him in on what I’ve done and what I’ve learned. Then I do the same with Harm.

“Are you hungry, Harm?” A slow shake of his head as he settles back down after swallowing another two aspirins.

“Are you gonna be OK if I leave you alone awhile to get some food?”

“Oh, god, Mac. What are you gonna eat? You can’t survive on nuts and berries.”

“Well, Harm, actually I could survive on what I could find in this forest but I won’t have to. After I finished at the Ranger Station I drove into Marshburg and got supplies. We have eggs, bacon, bagels, cream cheese and berries for breakfast. Sure you don’t want some?”

His eyes get wide. “Could you fix me a plate? I don’t think I’m ready for clothes quite yet.”

I kiss his forehead and scoot toward the campfire. Time for food.


Down at the Lake
1120 (local)

Heather and I had breakfast. We fed our respective patient. We cleaned up the cooking area, with a fine tooth comb, and hung our food supplies in the tree.

Now we’re down at the Lake wondering what to do with the day. She and Keeter hadn’t planned anything since they figured we’d be flying out this morning. Ah, the best laid plans of mice and men....

Fortunately, they did bring all their information, so Heather and I are reviewing the map and considering our options.

We decide to take the North Country Trail from where we can pick it up here at Handsome Lake and follow it north along the reservoir for a while. We figure we’ll just take the map with us and see how it goes. We don’t want to be gone too long, but hey, this is our vacation too and we weren’t the ones hanging ourselves out to burn.

After making sure the guys have everything we can get for them, we take off with a promise to be back by 1330.

It’s another gorgeous day. The trail is great, the vistas stunning, the weather amazingly warm, even more so than yesterday. After we’ve hiked about two miles we see a stream that branches off the reservoir to the east. Heather consults her map.
“It’s called Whiskey Run, but there’s no marked trail along it,” she informs me.

“Yeah but look, Heather, we can just walk along the bank for a bit. I don’t know about you but I’m feeling kinda jumpy about staying out in the sun too long.”

We laugh nervously at that as we turn east to follow the stream.

We walk for another twenty minutes then sit down to rest for a bit. We both doff our shoes and socks and stick our feet in the water.

“Ahh.” A joint sigh of appreciation.

We kick the water a bit and trail our hands in it.

I think we both think of it at the same time.

“Hey, Mac.”

“Hey, Heather.”

“It’s all in shade; there isn’t a trail here. Just for a few minutes, what’d’ya say?”

My answer is clear as I pull off my top and stand to drop my jeans. In under a minute we’re wading like wood nymphs into the cool stream.

“Too bad the guys couldn’t be here.”

We’re waist deep in the water splashing each other when I see Heather suddenly sink down to her shoulders and say “uh oh.”

I turn my head to see two canoes round the bend, heading straight toward us.

I hastily sink down and we both head for deeper water.

Once we’re covered best as possible I turn back toward the canoes, crossing my arms over my chest.

Holy shit! I’m not believing what I’m seeing. These aren’t just two canoes. These are two canoes full of Boy Scouts!

I turn my back to them and advise Heather to do the same.

“Men! Listen up!” I know officious when I hear it. That has to be the Leader. “Eyes right! Paddle faster, men. Keep your eyes right!”

I sneak a peek back. That sanctimonious son of a bitch. He has all the scouts holding their eyes right (and good little scouts that they are they are actually doing it) while he’s got a video camera trained on us.

“How dare you sully the forest with your wanton ways!” he rails. “You expose yourself to these impressionable young boys like predatory vixens!”

Whoa. This guy’s got a real problem. The boys aren’t looking, he is. And last time I checked, most natural things in the forest weren’t wearing clothes.

Heather and I exchange glances and both raise a hand in a single finger salute.

“I have you on tape. I’ll see you brought to justice for this!” is his parting shot as they round the next bend.

Around the bend is right. No wonder the Boy Scouts have been getting bad press over the last few years if that’s the kind of uptight yahoo they allow to be a Leader.

We wade back to the shore, dress and decide to commit a sin of omission by not sharing this part of our hike with the guys. Hey, they hid their skinny dipping from us until forced to admit it, right? We’re within our rights. At least, that’s how we figure it.


Handsome Lake campsite
1325 (local)

We get back into camp to find Harm and Keeter stretched out on the ground by the campfire. In the shade and in their boxers. They still have water bottles as close companions but I’m heartened to see they can stand fabric against that oh so delicate skin.

“Hey guys, doing better?”

They nod in agreement.

“How was your hike?” Harm asks, reaching his hand out toward me.

I sit down next to him and study his face for signs of pain. It does look much less stressed than earlier. “Fine, it was just fine.”

He reaches up and fingers the bottom of my hair. “Your hair’s wet.”

“We found a lovely little stream and I splashed off a bit.” OK, not the whole truth, but not a lie either. And I’m not under oath here.

“Glad you had a good time. Keeter and I feel horrible about this. Well, we feel horrible and we feel horrible about this.”
Yes, he’s feeling better if he’s starting to make pathetic jokes like that.

“Don’t worry. You may have missed one day of our weekend, but you’ve given us years of stories to tell at cocktail parties, business dinners, family gatherings...” Heather’s twisting the knife with elegant skill.

They scream together, “NO!!! YOU WOULDN’T!!! WOULD YOU???”