Page 2 of Eco-Activist's Mountain Men
Now that I'm up here, it's far from the pleasant walk in the park I'd imagined. I'm out of my depth. I never should've gone ahead without Randy.
Oh well. I've been in tighter places than this.
The camp is quiet. No buzz of chainsaws or hum of vehicle engines, so maybe the tree-murdering bastards are on a break or something. Whatever. As long as I can stay out of sight until tomorrow, everything should go to plan.
It feels amazing to shrug off my backpack and sink to the ground. For early September, the temperature is unusually hot, and the humidity is off the charts—which just proves our point about climate change, right?
I sigh and take another mouthful of precious water from my canteen. Two-thirds of it's already gone on the five-hour hike. Either I find more clean, drinkable water, or this final third will have to last until the team arrives tomorrow.
Up ahead, I spot a particularly ancient Douglas fir that's easily two hundred feet tall and many feet in circumference, towering up into the canopy. A rope ladder is attached to it,together with a hooked line connected to what looks like a block and tackle.
This must be it.
I make my way toward it, stumbling over roots, pushing through lush ferns, trying not to get slashed to pieces by trailing thorns. Insects buzz around my eyes, up my nose, and even in my ears. I'm thankful for the insect repellent I picked up in Portland. It seems to be keeping the little bastards at bay. Mostly.
Some good luck for once: the block and tackle are an unexpected bonus. I test it, and sure enough, when I haul on one end, the other moves upward. Great. I can hoist my backpack up there without having to wear it while climbing. Much safer.
I reach down and clip the carabiner on my backpack to the hook on the rope. As I do, I spot a piece of paper on the ground. I pick it up and examine it.
Weird. It's a hotel invoice. Same one I stayed at last night, but dated a few days ago. What's that doing here? Someone else must've passed through recently. Strange coincidence that they also stayed at the SleepEZ Inn.
I shrug, fold the invoice, and stuff it into my backpack. No need to have litter spoiling the place, as well as all the tree damage.
Hauling on the rope, I watch the backpack disappear into the canopy. After about twenty feet, it's lost from sight. A few more pulls and the rope bumps at the top of its journey. I secure my end to a handy peg that was presumably hammered into the tree for exactly this purpose, then I grab the rope ladder and start to climb.
Oh my God… what a view!
From up here, I can see for miles, and I honestly think this might be the most beautiful view I've ever seen.
To the north rises the majestic silhouette of Mount Hood. At 11,239 feet, it's the fourth-tallest mountain in the Cascade Range, but numbers don't begin to capture its true impact. It owns the skyline. Its snowcapped summit and conical, craggy shape rise far above everything else, giving it a perfect, fairy-tale mountain look. It's exactly the kind of mountain a child might draw—bold, symmetrical, awe-inspiring, like a scene from a Tolkien novel.
Tall, mysterious, and dazzling in its cloak of white snow, it towers above the lush green forest below. I simply stand and stare, barely remembering to breathe. This moment is special… a spiritual experience. This is why I am here. This is what I have come to save.
I drag my backpack up over the safety rail and unclip the carabiner. In front of me stretches a walkway made of short wooden planks connected by long lengths of rope, strung between the trees for hundreds of yards. Waist-high ropes hang on either side, serving as makeshift handrails. These walkways are where I'm supposed to attach our Kill Climate Change banners, ready to unfurl tomorrow for the cameras in the helicopter Tim has arranged.
Hmm… what would've been awkward but doable with Randy here to help is going to be a lot harder on my own, not least because the wind seems to be picking up.
The old timer I'd hitched a ride with had warned me there was a storm coming, but I'd dismissed it as nonsense: blue skies,blazing sunshine, not a cloud in sight, and barely a breeze. I'd practically sneered at him.
Now, though… the swaying of the walkway is increasing, making me queasy. Worse still, I can see dark clouds massing to the northwest. They look ominously dark—almost purple—and they're moving fast toward me.
A sudden gust of wind blasts through the canopy, making the trees creak and shudder before settling again. I grip the guide rail tightly, my hand trembling where before it had been steady as a rock.
I take a deep breath.
"This will not do, Luna Wildchild," I mutter. "Pull yourself together, girl. You're an experienced climber on a walkway with a safety rail, for fuck's sake."
Then, with one long, heartfelt sigh, I step away from the relative safety of my Douglas fir and start inching my way out along the walkway, banner in hand.
Good. I've got one end of the banner's top edge connected. Now I just need to secure the other end. When the time comes, I'll pull the release cord, and the banner will unfurl into place:
Kill Climate Change
Stop the Logging
Save the Planet
Two-foot-tall red letters on a white background will stand out perfectly against the green and brown of the forest.
