Hidden Trail

HIDDEN TRAIL by James Fox - for Phillip - word count 2610

                                       

         Craig Styles lay on his stomach atop the inner-tube and trailed his chin in the cold water of the river. He could hear a woodpecker nearby, hammering on the tough bark of an old oak tree. Craig closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the water gurgling beneath the canoe that was towing him. He dipped his chin into the water in rhythm with the canoe paddle softly breaking the river's surface. Craig felt the warmth of the midday sun as it bore down on the back of his neck, above his lifejacket and the ratty safety string that he hoped would hold his eyeglasses on should he take a spill.

         With his thumb, Craig pushed his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose, opened his eyes and using a stroke of his hand through the water, guided the innertube off to the side where he could squint toward the river bend up ahead. This should have been an enjoyable summer day on the river for a boy just turned twelve, but Craig was miserable.

         When he'd entered Junior High, Craig's parents had encouraged him to join a local Boy Scout troop. This weekend would be his first trip with the Scouts as well as the Explorers who were mostly in High School. Craig knew his parents hoped this trip would help him to fit in socially with the other kids. Too often tagged as a "nerd" at school, they worried that he hadn't made many friends. So, their hopes were pegged to this campout. But it seemed to Craig, that so far everything had gone wrong.

         The trouble had begun early yesterday evening, when the patrol he was assigned to was setting up the campsite. Craig had opened his Scout Handbook to a page he'd previously book-marked, to help him quickly locate the illustrations of knots he was sure the troop would use while setting up tents.

          "Hey guys," Craig had called out, "here are the knots we should use for setting up tents!" Several of the scouts had looked at him as if he was from another planet. Craig suddenly realized all of the tents were modern dome tents which didn't require ropes or knots. Embarrassed, Craig tried to explain his mistake, pleading, "It's not my fault these illustrations show tents with guy-ropes. Tents with ropes would use knots, like what we need to learn to advance in rank." Shaking their heads, the scouts had turned back to unpacking and setting up all the tents.

         Exasperated, Craig had wandered back and forth between the patrols and the explorer's campsites, comparing the camp set-up to the illustrations in his handbook. Before he could stop himself, Craig had announced "These campsites aren't laid out like it shows in my Scout book." That had only annoyed some of the scouts and they'd started to squabble with Craig. Mr. Todd, the Scoutmaster, had to come over and warn the other scouts about laughing at Craig over the remarks he'd made.

         Mr. Todd had then called Craig aside, and although he'd been friendly enough, Craig recognized the criticism. Tapping a pen on his clipboard, Mr. Todd had begun, "You recall at our last troop meeting you were told that before dinner you'd be trained in knots you'd need toward rank advancement. See that, over there," Mr. Todd had pointed to a rolled-up bundle of canvas, "that's a pup tent with tent-poles and guy-lines that Assistant Scoutmaster Kirby will help you set up. It's for overnight storage of extra gear, like the lifejackets and canoe paddles. The set-up uses three of the knots you need to know. Mr. Kirby will teach them to you, then certify you know them." As Mr. Todd turned to go, he said "Craig, I am glad you studied the handbook. Just be patient, once the scouts trust what you know, it's going to be easier."

         Later, Tim Rausch, the 16-year-old scout who had been elected the troop's Senior Patrol Leader, had to stop an argument between Craig and "Choppy" Andersen. Choppy, also only age twelve, had just earned Tenderfoot rank. And because of his friendly, easy-going personality he'd had become the self-appointed bestower of nicknames within the scout troop. Craig desperately wanted to be "Craiger," or "Craigo," or any nickname that proved the other scouts accepted him. But now it seemed impossible for that to happen.

         Last night the scoutmaster had quietly asked Craig why he didn't explain anything quickly. Mr. Todd had said, "Craig, learn to keep it short and to the point, O.K.? Around the other boys you tend to launch into some scientific analysis, just like tonight when you helped light the campfire."

         Craig was frustrated. He knew friction heated and then ignited the low tinder-point of the sulfur in the match-head, producing the flame and he had started to explain that to the nearest scout. But that had fired up the argument with Choppy.

         Later, while they were washing their mess kits after dinner, Tim had come over to separate the boys, again, when Choppy shouted "You're not Einstein and I'm not stupid!" In exasperation, Tim had told Craig, "Look, when you're helping with a task don't give some know-it-all lecture unless someone asks for an explanation. Do you understand?" Craig had nodded, but he really didn't understand why the other scouts didn't seem to care about knowledge, although most were just as smart as he. Craig sullenly thought over what Tim had said to him earlier; "You've got to try to fit in, or you will be miserable."

         Now Craig felt that it was too late to fit in. This morning the scouts and explorers had teamed up, buddy style, to float the Stanislaus River and Craig had been paired up with Choppy, who, like Craig, had also brought a truck tire inner-tube. Some scouts had brought rubber rafts, others had kayaks and the girls and boys of the Explorer Post were in canoes, as were Mr. Todd, Mr. Kirby and the adults. PFDs, Personal Flotation Devices, were required and most of the scouts had water-ski zip-ups and several Explorers had the kayaker, sleek, wrap-around Lifejackets.

         Craig had brought a bulky old "Mae West" style lifejacket, which made it clumsy trying to guide the inner-tube with a paddle. He'd ended up entangling his tube with Choppy's and wrapping the tether between them around a snag jutting out of the river. Mr. Todd had at first watched with amusement as the sudden angry water-fight ensued but had paddled his canoe over to stop the boys' argument before it got fully out of hand. Tim, in a kayak, had backpaddled to drift over and suggest towing the inner-tubes.

         Choppy, now behind Tim's kayak, had disappeared up ahead, leaving Craig in tow behind Mr. Todd who'd taken "sweep" for the trek, positioning his canoe as the last one at the back. As Craig forlornly dipped his chin into the river again, he thought he could hear an odd drumming sound, lightly echoing across the water. As the sound grew louder, he realized that it was coming toward the river from the bluffs above the bank. Suddenly, with a crash of hooves through the foliage and a chorus of angry braying, two little donkeys raced down a hidden trail among the rocks and weatherworn faces of the bluffs.

         Startled, Craig lifted his chin out of the water so he could focus on the animals. Was he hallucinating from the heat, he wondered as he realized from their shaggy coats that they had to be wild burros! Craig quickly tried to recall the signs of heat exhaustion. But this was real; Craig saw Mr. Todd draw his paddle into the canoe and sit quietly, as he too watched the burros coming down to the river.

         The burros' manes were unkempt, and their hides scarred from old battles. The animals began biting and kicking each other, as each tried to drink from the same pool at the river's edge. Craig was astounded. This scene could have been scripted straight out of a nature film about the Grand Canyon, yet they were only a half hour from town in the middle of California's Central Valley. As swiftly as they'd arrived, the burros turned and raced back up the trail to disappear among the wild blackberry bushes lining the bluffs.

         Astonished, Craig called out, "Were those burros?" Mr. Todd had started paddling again and he answered over his shoulder, "Yes, Craig, they were wild burros. Pretty cool, huh? " As the canoe rounded the next bend of the river, Craig and Mr. Todd reached the pull-out point where the other scouts, explorers and adults were already ashore and beginning to pack up the gear. Mr. Todd's canoe glided up to the sandy beach and Craig leapt from his inner-tube to splash ashore.

         Craig called out, "Did you guys see the burros? Back there, wild burros came down to drink from the river!" The boys stopped packing and just stared at Craig. Then one laughed, "You almost had us on that, Craig! But wild burros?" Craig vigorously nodded his head, "yes, two wild burros came down the bank, just back there!" Several scouts laughed and turned back to the task of hauling the canoes up the sandy bank. "Really," Craig insisted, "Mr. Todd and I saw wild burros!" He turned, but just beyond where the explorer post was packing its gear, Mr. Todd was already starting up the bank with his canoe hoisted on his shoulders and he didn't seem to hear.

         Craig looked back toward the other scouts. "Wild burros," he repeated. One of the boys called out "Hee-haw" in Craig's direction as he made donkey ears with his hands alongside his head. "Hee-haw", he called out again, "Hee-haw! Hey, Pedro! Hee-haw Pedro!" A chorus of "Hee-haw Pedro" erupted from the other scouts. Craig glanced up the beach. Tim, now an obviously frustrated Senior Patrol Leader, was just standing there, shaking his head, not stopping any of the jeering.

         Suddenly Mr. Kirby, the Assistant Scoutmaster, stuck his thumb and middle finger into his mouth, bared his teeth, and let out the shrill whistle that all the scouts immediately recognized as "Knock it off!" Mr. Todd came trotting back down the bank a frown on his face, but Mr. Kirby shot him a thumbs up, and he saw Tim, several explorer girls and boys and some of the parents had gotten the boys back on task. Soon the gear, kayaks and canoes were loaded onto several cars and pickups for the trip through the park back to the campsite. As the scouts hiked along behind the vehicles, Craig plodded along, last in line, totally discouraged.

         Craig had hoped for a nickname, but not "Hee-haw Pedro," like the little donkey, Pedro, in the magazine comics. Pedro hauled mailbags across the pages of Boys' Life magazine. "Hee-haw Pedro." How could he ever shake that?

         When they reached the campsite, Craig glumly helped prepare "spuds," the foil wrapped potatoes cooked in the campfire embers, as part of the dinner. This entire campout was turning into a nightmare for Craig. Mr. Todd had mysteriously disappeared, and the other adults tried to help Mr.Kirby and Tim keep order, but some scouts would still walk by, making donkey ears with their hands and mouthing "Hee-haw" at Craig.

         The explorers had left; the sun was setting, and the scouts were just dishing up dinner when Mr. Todd's van rolled in followed by a woman driving a pickup truck. Mr. Todd walked into camp with the stranger and announced, "We have a dinner guest. This is Mrs. Gates. She has a ranch just across the river from Caswell Park here." The scouts welcomed their guest and began to set another place among the adults at one of the picnic tables. The rancher sat down and opened up a scrapbook she'd carried in under her arm. Looking around she asked, "Now who is it that says he saw wild burros today?"

         Amid the snickers and donkey ear gestures, Craig stood up. "I did see wild burros," he said quietly, "and Mr. Todd saw them too." An amused smile spread acros Mrs. Gates' face as she licked her thumb and began to leaf through her scrapbook. "Well, I've got to say," she began, "I think that you must have stumbled across a secret trail for burros, hidden alongside the river." In the lantern light, Mrs. Gates held up the scrapbook and Craig stared in astonishment. There were photographs of burros being unloaded from a horse trailer. In the photos the burros looked just as unkempt as the ones today and they were trying to bite and kick the ranch hands unloading them.

         "Donkeys," exclaimed one of the scouts. "Not donkeys," corrected Mrs. Gates, "actually they are burros, wild burros. I got them through the BLM Wild Horse and Burro Project." A scout asked, "What's the BLM burro project?" Instinctively, Craig answered, "BLM, that's the Bureau of Land Management and they are in charge of the wilderness lands. So, to make sure that the wild herds stay healthy, the BLM needs to keep the wild horses and burros from overgrazing the range lands."

         Craig realized he had started off on a long explanation and he looked around. Everyone was listening. Mr. Kirby was nodding and Mr. Todd winked at him and gave a thumbs-up signal, so Craig continued, "They used to thin out the wild herds by shooting some of the animals, but now the BLM project adopts them out, instead." Mrs. Gates nodded and said, "Some folks domesticate these animals, but I brought 'em out here and turned 'em loose to live as wild and free as they were born. My scrapbook shows just how spooked these burros get around humans, so nobody ever sees them. I was amazed when your scoutmaster showed up and said a scout saw these rascals on that hidden trail today!"

         Mrs. Gates looked up at Craig. "You're Craig, the scout nobody believed?" Craig nodded and in embarrassment looked down at his feet. From just beyond the lantern light, Tim, the Senior Patrol Leader, spoke up, "I owe Craig an apology." Stepping forward and nodding to Craig, he continued quietly, "A scout is trustworthy, courteous too. That's part of what we learned when we joined scouting. So, I should have realized you were telling the truth today." Sheepishly the other scouts also began to murmur their apologies.

         The rancher closed her scrapbook and with a friendly smile she spoke to the boys, "Well, my boy was a scout when he was your age and I know sometimes the rules were hard for him to follow, too. I suppose today my little burros decided to make you think about what it means to be a scout. It appears to me that Craig should be welcome in your troop."

         Choppy cleared his throat, loudly, then said "Excuse me, Mrs. Gates, he's not Craig! He's called Pedro!" Mrs. Gates looked astonished, but Choppy continued. "Yup, 'Pedro Craig', yeah, that's P.C. 'Old PC' with a mailbag full of knowledge!"

         Craig blinked his eyes in confusion as the scouts crowded around to pat him on the back or elbow him good-naturedly in the ribs. Then as the boys gathered around the campfire to serve up dinner, one called out, "Hey P.C. pass those spuds on down!" As a warm glow seemed to fill his chest Craig grinned with satisfaction as he realized that a pair of shaggy burros had helped him earn his own nickname on the river today; a nickname magically transformed into one of pride and respect.

Edited and originally published fnasr 2011 in the Anthology "Regrets & Other Short Stories" by Phyllis Scott Publishing.