1.41 Ranger Can You Spare A Map?
The manager, deciding we’d lingered at the front desk too long talking to Sam, swung by to make sure everything was copasetic (the way Sam clammed up, perhaps making sure he wasn’t telling inappropriate tales?). Not wanting to get him in hot water, Wood and I headed into the dining room to relieve the complimentary breakfast bar of some bacon.
“Did you really want to go back up Pumpkin Mountain?” Wood asked while we surveyed the offerings.
Really I was just covering my bases. Last night I’d perused the pictures the others had taken on the hike, which made me feel confident that I’d salted the correct spot. But the cairn’s unsettling strong vita still bugged me, so I thought I might take a second look until Sam nixed the plan with his disturbing tale.
“Thought about it, but it seems out of the question now. No big deal.”
Our conversation sputtered out when we observed what lay underneath the serving domes. Runny eggs, limp bacon, burnt hash browns and sweaty sausages put me off every warm food offering. I opted instead for lime yogurt, a tiny box of children’s cereal, a bowl of fruit and the largest cup of coffee I could finagle. Wood, who’d replaced his intestinal tract with that of a goat’s in med school, piled his plate high with every item I deemed too dubious to venture even a nibble of. Beatrice joined us in line while Wood was making pancakes at the griddle station. I thought she ignored our ‘Good Mornings’ until I watched her double down on coffee then grab two sticky strawberry danishes.
If Beatrice’s breakfast was any indication, I wasn’t the only one the Party Of Much Yelling rudely woke up this morning.
After making a respectable dent in our chosen breakfasts (with only Beatrice feeling the need to lick her plate, we didn’t judge) we grabbed yet more coffee and headed to the lobby. Wood wandered over to the large map next to the front counter, “Morticia, Bee want to walk breakfast off? We have a couple of hours before Laney wakes up.”
Beatrice stood next to Wood, tracing a line with her finger, “What about Sarah?”
Replying, “Probably about the same.” The hot toddies we drank last night were stiff, and she has zero tolerance.
Wood left a note for Laney in their room (Bert and Ernie refused to budge from the bed), and I left another at the front desk for Sarah while letting Sam know where we were hiking to this morning (safety first after all). He seemed relieved we’d decided to head in the exact opposite direction of The Pink Lady and her mountain. In fairness, our muscles (I say our, it might only have been mine) were sore from yesterday’s hike.
The walk to the ranger station was a relaxed two-mile ramble, due mainly to the efforts of an Eagle Scout who did an excellent job restoring the path. About an hour later our leisurely stroll deposited us in front of a sizable rustic building featuring friendly but official sign proclaiming it as the Ross Lake Ranger Station.
“Do you think they sell any maps inside?” Beatrice wondered out loud.
“Better question. Are they open?” Spying several banks of illuminated lights thru the windows, we decided to try the doors. When the opened easily under our hands, we headed inside.
The ranger seated at the counter did not seem overly pleased to see us (people don’t generally tend to frown with happiness). “Can I help you?”, he queried.
“Hi. I was looking to see if you had any other maps of the area I could purchase. I own all the current Forest Service…..” It seemed Beatrice found a kindred spirit. The Ranger perked right up when she started her inquiry.
Asking her to wait a moment, he limped away from the counter, past a desk piled high with papers, to a row of filing cabinets lining the back wall. Instead of opening a drawer he slipped something off the top and returned the counter, “We’ve had these hanging around forever, to new for collectors, not accurate enough for hikers and regulations say I can’t toss them. You can take any you like.” With the amount of dust Beatrice blew off the two-inch stack, I was willing to believe they’d been sitting there since the sixties.
Wood and I wandered around the large airy room, but other than maps, hiking licenses, and other official paperwork there wasn’t much for the nontechnical tourists. However, the happy noises issuing from Beatrice while she sorted thru the dusty stack provided more than enough entertainment.
Leaning against the counter, trying to figure out the method behind Beatrice’s choices (without crowding her) – I turned to idle speculation “I wonder if Sam believed his tall tale.”
Wood looked up from the drawer of maps he was thumbing thru, “Hard to say. But I think he just might.” Closing the drawer, he joined me at the counter and eyed the Ranger working between Beatrice and us. “Hey, Ranger Lade, what do you think of The Pink Lady? Fact or fiction?”