No joke: Got canned by the metropulse. They got rid of all the minor column writers. I’m tempted to say that it was just a move to slim down the paper or something. But really, if my crap had rocked I wouldn’t have gotten the old pink slip. Can’t really blame anyone but myself (I waited and looked to make sure other folks got canned, they did)
The delacroix thing is very long and I apologise but this is the final installment. You can find the first part here the second part can be found here
In good news: I think I’ll post a little less frequently, I’m running out of stuff to say. Well that’s a lie. I was really into the blogging thing with daily posts and all, I found it very diverting and fun but some of the fun has gone out of it. Why, heck I don’t know. Perhaps it’s because I’m mentally gearing up for fly fishing and making a video. Since Todd has my old camera (he earned it) I figure we can record our next fly fishing outing. Kill two hobbies with one stone.
TV pick: No pick, all the choices look awful.
Game pick: Avoid collision This is a pretty great game, seems ridiculously hard at first but it gets a bit better with practice. In any event the report after you lose reminds me of my bedroom antics.
CKS tripe rating: another solid 129% maximum allowable rating. Yeah you would have been better off working on that real estate ad. You could have also read Nate Eaton’s blog, it’s a nice story.
Ah, the below is like licking the bathroom floor at your local tavern. In fact if you could concentrate tavern bathroom floor licking this would be it. (Sorry for the swiping John but it’s a really great phrase. Everyone can immediately knows what you mean)
Delacroix Finale
As soon as Delacroix was out of sight I realized that I had met the toughest part of the mountain. The steeper grade combined with the more abundant trees and vines ruled out any thought of a direct ascent. I found myself moving thirty yards sideways to forge ten yards upward. Occasionally there would be a scalable boulder providing a seemingly direct route but I generally skirted these in an effort to conserve my energy. After thirty minutes of traversing the mounting in a shoelace pattern I stumbled upon what can only be referred to as a refuse pile of high quality camping items.
I stood befuddled in an array of tent spikes, survival knives, Gortex clothing, discarded camp stoves and anything else that would weigh down a pack. My puzzlement was only momentary, as I looked up the embankment I saw the white trail markers and the predictable shelter. The markers announced that I had reached the Appalachian Trail and the shelter explained the massive pile of refuse.
The Appalachian Trail starts in Northern Georgia and ends in Maine. Every year thousands try to traverse it’s length. Quite a few of these folks are health conscious yuppies with a prodigious amount of disposable income. The general pattern is as follows: Yupster decides to ‘get back to nature’ or something. The preparation for the trip entails a serious investment in equipment and much over planning. The general idea is to start in Georgia and finish in Maine staying ahead of the bugs and summer. The shelter I was at would be reached about two weeks into the hike, the perfect moment for the first time hikers to realize they had far too many indispensables but too soon to realize that they weren’t going to make it. So it would be this particular shelter where many folks jettison the weightiest “indispensables.” Since they had paid the hobby price for these items they wouldn’t consider them valueless and justify their littering by thinking the next hiker through would enjoy possessing their debris. Of course the next hiker through would either be someone looking to trim their kit or a hiker who knew what was going on. In either case someone else’s trash was not their treasure. I picked through the mess and found a perfectly serviceable survival style knife. I wondered why anyone would bring a survival knife on the trail, oh wait, it was surely a thirty-five year old star-eyed yuppie hoping to kill pigs with a stick. A laughed and tossed it back on the pile, I was carrying a two-inch all purpose Gerber, it was all I would need.
This was the one boulder I climbed. I made my way to the top, verified that I was on the Appalachian trail and scratched ‘Georgia’ in the dirt. About Fifteen yards away I scratched ‘Maine.’ I then made several trips between the two markings so I could say I had traversed the Appalachian trial from ‘Maine to Georgia and Georgia to Maine’ many times. While ‘hiking’ my newly made ‘trail’ I noticed that the top of the boulder I had just climbed finished up in a nice bowl. A roughly man-sized lip had formed and it looked like an ideal spot to rest. I settled in for what I thought would be a fifteen or twenty minute rest, safely between the departed hikers and the fools that would arrive later.
I dozed off, unintentionally to be sure, the result of prolonged exertion. I am not certain what caused me to wake, perhaps the smell or perhaps some instinctual reaction to danger. Either way I started awake and my eyes quickly focused on a largish bear eyeing me from just a few feet. Thoughts swam in my brain: Play dead, whistle, throw rocks, give him a picnic basket and hope the ranger didn’t find out. I went through a hundred different bear-man encounter strategies. The entire time I was marginally aware of a putrid smell, rotting flesh mixed with the most potent scent a dumpster has to offer. I finally reacted by lashing out with my right foot and kicking the bear solidly in the nose.
For those of you wishing to avoid violent bear encounters I can assure you my actions will not achieve your goal. The bear, which seemed merely large when I flung my foot out, rose up to his full monsterous height. It was at this point I realized that all the earlier mistakes I had made: smoking, drinking too much, and watching Pauly Shore Movies paled in comparison to the error I had just made. I also saw the source of the distasteful odor. The bear had some sort of necrosis under his right forelimb, maggots crawled and furless black flesh hung stinking and limp. I scrambled upright, backing up the outer bowl of the rock while facing the bear. The bear brought the paw attached to his good forelimb towards my head with frightening speed. I managed to move my head out of the way but my chest was still a target and there the paw found a home. I also had time for one thought: ‘Bears never move this fast at the zoo’ The impact knocked me over the lip and sent me skidding into the high priced trash pile some seven feet below. I didn’t have time to reflect on my wounds, all I could tell was that my chest was bleeding and I seemed to be in a massive amount of discomfort. That was the sum total of introspection before the bear was on me again. I saw flashing teeth and performed only by instinct. I blindly grabbed one of the tent spikes left by earlier hikers and swung in a pinwheel fashion. My gyrations bore fruit, the spike stabbed deeply into the bear’s upper chest and stayed there. The intruding spike caused a moment of indecision by the bear: continue the attack or cut and run? I was willing to act when the bear was not. I again scrambled to my feet and prepared for an all out foot race, sure I couldn’t out run a bear but massive fear had made me believe I could outrun a hobbled bear with a tent spike poking out of it’s thorax. The bear, newly enraged by my cowardice, dislodged the tent spike in a flash and in doing so ensured himself of a quick death. The tent spike had been acting as some sort of metal bandage. As soon as the obstruction was removed blood arced through the air with each thump of the predator’s heart. While the ensuing moments seemed to take hours to pass the animal was weakened within seconds and unconscious within a minute. There was no reason to attack the bear any further and I was tempted to stroke the beast in his final moments. I quickly thought better of providing any ministration, however slight, and stayed well out of reach while hoping the suffering was minimal.
I took full inventory of my wounds at this point. I could tell by my suddenly pained breathing that I had a broken a rib. This deep furrows in my chest were a testament to the bears claws but the damage landed squarely between a hospital trip and a home cure of butterfly bandages. My back was in far worse shape. Something was definitely wrong in the entire vertebrae spinal cord area but I could still wiggle my toes so I counted myself lucky.
I felt badly for the bear, I hadn’t wanted to kill the beast, bloodlust is not in my nature. Self-preservation is but I wondered if the was something I could have done to avert the entire incident. I was replaying the encounter over and over in my brain looking for every mistake when I heard a melodic whistle. It was Delacroix.
‘I see you battled a wounded Boodles. I also note that you were the victor.’
‘What? No hi? No how are you? No holy crap you killed a friggin bear?’ I thought these things but all I said was, ‘I didn’t want to do it Del, I made some mistakes’
‘No mistakes were made, poor Boodles was caught on a screw three weeks ago. In an effort to free himself he ripped his flesh badly. Unfortunately the screw was connected to a trash receptacle and was thus teeming with anaerobic bacteria. Predictably the bacteria quickly infected the wound, a shame really. But as I noted previously garbage kills bears’
Delacroix had named the bear Boodles? I let it slide. Heck, I was probably standing next to Jimmy the Rock and I was far too spent for such a conversation.
‘I guess you’re going to tell me this encounter was anticipated and worked into the schedule’
‘Oh, not at all, this was unanticipated and that is most disturbing. I have made grievous errors as well. In any event I can hear Todd working around the bald’
Balds are, as the name implies, bare areas found on the mountaintops. No one is quite sure if they are manmade or naturaul, the balds remain a mystery that even escapes the fine eye of Delacroix. I, on the other hand, had a new mystery to create. I couldn’t leave a dead bear carcass laying so close to the Appalachian trial and expect to stay a minor misdemeanant.
‘Del, what I am going to do with the bear? It’s a federal offense. I’d be lucky to get off with a fine.’
‘That is the price you pay for such an action. Death versus incarceration. It is an interesting dilemma’
‘Geeze Del can’t we just haul the carcass to an out of the way spot and forget it? The bear didn’t have a transmitter.’
‘Yes, of course, you have stated the only reasonable action. A large pack of coyotes is integral to rapid decomposition of a mammal this size and you are fortunate that such a pack patrols this area nightly.’
We drug the carcass thirty yards off the trail and continued our journey. Delacroix led the way stoop shouldered and looking depressed. As we made our way around the bald I began to hear the out of place metallic sound Delacroix had first noted much earlier. An odd ‘tong’ would resonate every minute or so, how Delacroix surmised this was Todd’s doing and not something unrelated befuddled me but I knew that questioning Delacroix’s reasoning would only result in a feeling of shame so I stayed quiet.
At some point our direction was no longer compatible with the direction of the path and I began to fight my way off trail. I found the going particularly challenging, I had envisioned an old growth forest at this height, nothing but tree trunks and leaf fall. Instead I was treated to the thickest, most difficult underbrush the Southeast has to offer. Delacroix seemed as though he was moving through an old growth forest, the ropey vines, scratching bushes and sap-covered branches magically parted for his ease of passage. For my efforts I was rewarded with light to medium scratches, deep enough to draw blood but not deep enough to drip. Delacroix, perversely to my way of thinking, lacked so much as the slightest contusion. The brush and branches ended without warning and I found myself freed from their cloying grasp. The sun was a welcome relief from the dense canopy, my involuntary squinting was a small price to pay for unimpeded movement.
I heard Todd before I saw him. The previously noted CLONG would ring out followed by a hoarse ‘How do like THAT ____.’ Then the process would repeat and only the expletive would change. It was perhaps three or four clongs and expletives before I could actually see the trap and a blurry outline of Todd. As we drew closer I could see Todd standing squarely in the middle holding what appeared to be some sort of solid handball racket. He would raise this high over his head and and bring it down mightily on a very large, perhaps four hundred pound, boar. Then the taunts would fly. Even from my vantage point I could tell the feral swine was well past the stage of being infuriated by Todd’s taunting.
‘Boy’ I yelled, ‘I believe that wee piggy is past the point of the Rocky comeback. I say you let him be’
Todd looked and smiled, until he saw Delacroix. There has always been a little tension between the two but I have never been able to divine the source. Perhaps it’s as simple as woodsman jealousy.
‘What the hell are you two doing here, and what happened to you Simpkins?’
I waved Todd’s inquiries away.
‘Well get to that later. Right now I need you to give me your beer.’
I knew Todd always took a fair amount of beer on his pig killing trips and I had a powerful urge for the hops.
‘Forget it. I just killed a freaking pig. With a damned iron skillet. I earned that beer. It’s mine.’ He said while climbing out of the trap.
I shrugged ‘I killed a bear. I think I deserve the beer’
Todd looked to Delacroix for confirmation, Delacroix nodded.
At this point I should note that both Todd and myself share an overwhelming thirst for beer. Todd’s thirst is hampered by a strong sense of entitlement: If I had really killed a bear Todd would reason that I did deserve the beer. I could see the confusion on his face, he turned to the impartial Delacroix (who only drinks 100 year old port and ales he brews himself) for a judgment.
‘Del, who deserves the beer?’
Delacroix smiled, I don’t know if he was giving his honest opinion or just the opinion that would get the most reaction, and said, ‘I would opine that your efforts are equally deserving of the prize.’
To most people this would mean split the beer equally. For Todd it meant a ‘you get yours, I’ll get mine.’ He broke for a cooler some fifty yards away. Todd’s early jump and natural speed combined to leave me far behind. By the time I reached the cooler Todd had ripped out one of the six tall boys and was chugging it as quickly as he could. I realized I was at a severe disadvantage but I was determined to get at least an equal split. I grabbed beer number two, gave it a quick shake and jabbed the bear killing tent spike into the bottom area of the can. In a smooth motion, smooth for me anyway, I pulled the top and started shot gunning the thing down, squeezing the sides to hasten the process. I saw the look of worry on Todd’s face, he was in a quandary. He couldn’t stop chugging and start shot gunning his beer for fear of waste but he could also tell I was making rapid progress. My can was empty before his and I tossed it aside while grabbing another cold sixteen ouncer. I repeated the process and was halfway through my second when Todd’s first fell from his lips. He grabbed a second and reached for his belt where he kept one of those multitool things. A quick shot and the hole was made and we were in a shotgun race for the ages. I ended up winning four to two. Afterward Todd held no grudge, that’s just how things went.
Once we had picked up the cans I had related my encounter and Todd told us of his tribulations. He had arrived early that afternoon expecting to be done long before our eventual arrival. A few events had conspired against his quick exit. First he stopped by his parent’s house to pick up this excursion’s weapon. He had planned on using a replica morning star filched from his mother’s antique store but his Grandmother had been making breakfast. He had noticed the iron skillet she was using to fry bacon and decided to experiment. His reasoning went as follows: the stereotype of women threatening folks with heavy iron skillets might have some basis in fact. The proper way to test this out would be to use such a skillet in deadly combat. So he had waited until the breakfast dishes were done, pilfered the iron skillet, and headed to the trap.
Once at the trap he had found the pig slightly miffed at being stuck. He jumped the side and began than duel. Here the story picked up:
‘Once I was in the pen the pig went crazy, well crazier than any other pig I’ve run across. It took me off my game, I was just reacting. That was a problem because I was holding the skillet like I hold a tennis racket, with an extreme western grip. That’s fine for adding topspin but when I took a shot at the pig it would only be a glancing blow. No damage at all, hell it just pissed the thing off.’
Here I should note that Todd could work tennis into any conversation. Ask Todd what he thought of Greenspan’s latest interest rate hike and he would be liable to say ‘Well, like Sampras had no choice but play serve and volley Greenspan was forced to,,,’
His story continued:
‘I was tired and the stupid bag of bacon disarmed me. I scrambled the side of the trap and waited for an opening. But these damn pigs are smart, he guarded the skillet like Aggassi on the baseline. After a few hours I couldn’t stand the cat and mouse game and tried to fetch the skillet. That’s when I got this.’
He held out his leg and I noticed a considerable gash, stitches for sure.
‘Anyway while the pig was doing that I was able to grab the skillet. I started using a solid overhand and that’s when you two showed up.’
Time to break the good news, though Todd’s portion had shrunk significantly. ‘You’ll like this’ I said opening my pack, ‘I scored you a gig that pays a cool c-note. All you have to do is draw something called a hellbender salamander. I haven’t read through the info yet, I figure it’s some lame heavy metal band. Draw a half naked over sexed twenty year old and some big guy riding a dragon’
I found Todd’s reaction puzzling, a half smile had formed on his face. Just a alarming was the fact that Delacroix shared an identical smirk.
Todd reached out and grabbed the Fed-Ex packet containing the details of the assignment. After fiddling with the tear strip for a moment he had it open.
‘You utter fool’ He began. ‘The Hellbender Salamander isn’t a band, it’s a freaking amphibian. The largest salamander in the world. What you have here is a task to measure, photograph, and draw ten of the things. Apparently some nature magazine in Japan wants to use the result in a story comparing the larger Japanese version with the species indigenous to the Smokies. I’m not doing it for a c-note or a million dollars, there’s no time, can’t be done. How long have you known about this anyway?’
Todd had me cold, I had been sitting on the assignment for some time, roughly six months. I suffer from many terrible flaws, procrastination is one of my more severe weaknesses.
‘Well, a couple of weeks I guess.’ Sure, it was a lie but it sounded better than ‘half a year.’
‘The thing is that it would take several months and a dozen biology post docs to really do this right. Hell, you’d need freakin biology idiot savants. And they’re only payin’ a measly Franklin?’
That statement got me thinking, a Smoky Mountain idiot savant? I couldn’t think of a better description of Delacroix.
‘Hey Del, you know where we could find ten of these stupid salamanders?’
Del thought a moment ‘Yes, I will allow that I do. But the Hellbender is a large salamander, a few I am thinking of are over five feet in length. They prefer well-oxygenated areas which, obviously, means they lurk near fast moving agitated water. I sincerely doubt I would be able to capture the Cryptobranchus alleganiensis with sufficient control in such conditions to avoid damaging said creature. There is also the matter of remuneration.’
With forty large on the line I was willing to give a little. That’s a lie, I was willing to give a lot.
‘Okay, here’s the plan. You lead us to the stupid salamanders and Todd and myself will wrestle the beasts out of the water. And to save my good name I’ll pay, out of my own pocket, a hundred bucks a salamander. How does that sound?’
Todd turned and walked away. At first I thought he was angry but a moment later I could see he was shaking with laughter.
‘Boy, you can’t handle the hike, you can’t handle the river and you certainly can’t handle a Hellbender Salamander.’
Delacroix felt the need to make me feel a bit smaller:
‘I concur, you would certainly be a liability in this endeavor.’
I could feel the sin of pride welling up and I nearly began to argue. Instead I fashioned a new, more cajoling proposal,
‘Surely Master woodsman, hogkillers, like yourselves could handle this small task? Perhaps Del could make a few measurements while Todd held the beast. I’ve got faith in your art Todd, I bet you can whip up great rendition from memory and a digital photo. I’ll pay two hundred bucks per salamander. How about it?’
Delacroix spoke:
‘The amount is far too low. I have observed your actions and mannerisms. This is not an assignment you would have undertaken if the reward was not a great deal more than you offered’
Delacroix is a perceptive guy, the bastard. I tried a desperate gambit.
‘Well how much is gonna cost to fly my ass outta here in a helicopter? According to you two I’m dead weight. I couldn’t find my way back down the mountain with a sherpa. Face it I’m done.’
Todd and Delacroix exchanged a look that ended with a slight shrug of the shoulders on Delacroix’s part.
‘ I suppose you could just take the Chromium 5 and I could drive your car back. I parked about 200 yards that way.’ Todd pointed east.
I was suddenly very disappointed in Todd, for all the time I had known him he had espoused a respect for the Smokies and the natural order of things.
‘Todd, it’s fine that you took it upon yourself to blaze a new path to the pig trap I guess. But I’ll be damned if I drive your Honda CRV through these woods.’ I didn’t want to continue, I’m a non-confrontational person, but I couldn’t help myself. ‘For all your complaining over the years about people leaving trash you would just drive over God knows what to kill a few pigs? That’s the fricking zenith of hypocrisy.’
Another knowing glance between Delacroix and Todd the offender, another Delacroix shrug.
‘Dude’ Todd started ‘I parked about three hundred yards that way in a parking lot. It’s a scenic lookout you boob.’
Apparently my epic journey was a practical joke by Delacroix. I was too tired to be angry, well I was angry but revenge could wait until I found myself in better circumstances.
The transportation issue solved it was time to get back to the negotiations. Todd would do it just for the joy of being published. Delacroix was a different matter, he would have accepted the task for free if he thought I wasn’t getting paid but some honor bound part of his psyche would insist that he and Todd received the lion’s share of the fee. The question remained: How much did Delacroix think I was being paid? Had I tipped my hand at some point without realizing my gaffe? Serious questions, a miscalculation at this point and Delacroix would likely become offended and refuse. Then I would be faced with a silent hike down the mountain and no fat paycheck. I decided to roll the dice.
‘Fine. You two can have it all, every stinking penny. Sure I did all the work, I found the stupid job, I hauled the damn art supplies up a mountain and I killed a damn bear. But, hey, I know that’s nothing to you two. So have every freaking penny. You get the full twenty-five g’s. Are you happy, is that enough? Cause if it’s not I can probably find a cougar to maul me or I could get a turkey buzzard to pluck one of my eyes out.’ It wasn’t until I snapped my jaw shut that I realized that I had been yelling. I watched a quick conference between Todd and Delacroix, too low and far away for me to hear the words. I undoubtedly been found out, Delacroix had noticed my shaking or blood trickling from my wounds a little slower or some other equally miniscule tell that revealed my deception. I supposed that they were deciding if they should ratchet up the demands or just call the whole thing off.
Todd spoke ‘Well that’s not acceptable. You keep five grand and we’ll split the rest.’
My exhaustion made it easy to hide my elation. We swapped keys and I was home within the hour.
Six weeks later I received the check and a copy of the publication. The study had turned out better than anyone could have imagined, the illustrations clearly crossed over into the world of fine art and Delacroix had catalogued two record specimens. I gave Todd his share right away. He was deep in debt to an online casino. The story he told was one of accidentally finding an offshore sports book that posted a tennis line. This was too much temptation for Todd to resist so he bet often and heavily. Unfortunately his method of prognostication was very poor, he would simulate the upcoming matches by playing Super Tennis on an ancient Super NES. Needless to say the ten grand came at a very good moment.
Dispersal to Delacroix was much more difficult. Apparently the mountains were like lithium, a cure that only worked while the substance was present. My sporadic efforts to contact him or resulted in a spate of new rumors: Delacroix had welded enormous locks on his office door after being startled by a janitor, his office was bereft of everything except a Sony Ericsson P900 which he operated with a stick and, most alarmingly, he would only answer the phone once per day at 5:09 PM. Telemarketer, supervisor, fellow employee, the who didn’t matter, only the when. I couldn’t say how many of the stories were apocryphal or which ones had a tenuous base in reality. Knowing Delacroix they all seemed equally plausible. Eventually I was able give Delacroix his share, suffice it to say that’s another story.
Fin
Not really part of the story but just so I’m never tempted to write fiction again…
Epilogue:
And then suddenly, without warning, a crazed assassin shot Delacroix, Todd and Simpkins through the head. It was clearly the work of a professional three bullets, three fatalities. Everyone was thankful.
-ed
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