Chapter 1

Olympic National Park

Washington

Late Saturday afternoon

The second he rounded the bend in the steep rocky trail, Ben knew he was in trouble. Serious trouble. Straddling the narrow path in front of him was a pissed off mountain goat. He couldn’t tell if the goat was pissed off in general or at him specifically, but he knew he was deep in the doodoo either way. He could smell its damp, snow white, wooly coat, sharp against the earthy scent of upland heather and wet granite outcroppings. Time slowed. Ben could see the finest detail of every part of the scene. He could even see the goat’s exhalations steaming in the air and the tiny hairs surrounding its dark wet nose. Ben could feel each bead of sweat trickling through his gray smattered, black hair and under his arms inside his muted red flannel shirt. They stared at each other, its glossy black eyes lasered into his coffee colored ones. Slowly its head dipped slightly and brought dagger sharp 6 inch long ebony black horns to bear. The beast shuddered slightly and drew a deep breath. Ben knew it was preparing to charge the 20 feet between them and launch him off the mountain.

Ben’s eyes widened and simultaneously his adrenaline pumped mind ran through what he knew about these goats. Normally, they were not a problem but when they felt cornered there were few animals as dangerous. In the last few years they had killed two people here in the Olympic mountains of Washington state. Recently, in Montana one had even killed a 900lb grizzly. There were no scenarios that he could conjure that might help. The snow and rock covered slope gave him nowhere to run, not that it would have done a bit of good against an animal that routinely ran sideways along cliffs and could easily jump 20 feet straight up. Playing dead would just ensure that the 400lb beast in front of him would first tap dance its black hooves across his prone body and then loft it off the mountain.

Slow de-escalation was the only option that might give him a few seconds longer to live. He began deliberately easing backwards and thought this was not how his day was supposed to turn out.

Old Bean Coffee,

Harborton, Washington

Earlier that Saturday

The day was starting well. Ben cheerfully walked through the beat up wooden door of his favorite coffee shop. The babble of voices rose over the smell of fresh roasted coffee beans. It wasn’t too busy though and the early morning line for coffee was pretty short. And to top it off his favorite barista, Kelly, was working the cash register.

Kelly was a real cutie, about 5 foot 5 inches tall, with warm hazel green gold eyes, lightly tanned skin, shoulder length glossy light chestnut colored hair curled at the ends and a slender but curvy shape. As a result she was being constantly hit on by every male that came in, and a few females as well. Ben always avoided the temptation to join in. He could see a flash of disdainful weariness in her eyes every time it happened and just didn’t want to be included in that scornful gaze. Ben was quite certain that Kelly didn’t even know he was alive. Wistfully he remembered his youth when young women would, at least, give him a passing look. Well, he was old now, probably 20 years her senior, and while he wasn’t bitter about it and accepted those days as gone, he thought just once it would be nice to see her smile as if she really noticed him. Ah! the follies of old men Ben grumped to himself smiling slightly.

As the line wended forward Ben enjoyed the atmosphere of the quirky coffee shop. Old Bean wasn’t at all like the Starbucks across the street. It was an authentic piece of the community that had been on Main street of the small town for decades. It was full of mismatched wooden chairs, local (mostly bad) artworks and scattered scratched tables surrounded by farmers, soccer moms and a smattering of college students and professionals heads down over their laptops and phones. Ben almost regretted his plans for the day. It would be enjoyable to just sit and relax for a bit, but the high trails in the Olympics were calling him. The most beautiful hikes would be snowed in soon and he didn’t want to miss the last opportunity of the fall.

Finally he reached the counter. Kelly was stunning as always. Just a bit harried with her ruddy brown locks up in a ponytail under her baseball cap. A lavender long sleeved scooped neck t shirt showed just a tiny bit of cleavage and her tight jeans, while not quite painted on, showed some dangerous curves. Ben nearly developed a brain aneurysm trying not to gawk at her like some love struck teen.

“What would you like today?” Kelly said in a light clear tenor voice.

Ben’s brain nearly misfired. His first thought was- If she’s a mind reader I’m in trouble.

“Um, just a large drip coffee please.” Ben stuttered, nearly dropping his wallet. God, why am I such an idiot around this woman, she’s barely not a child he thought.

“Do you need room for cream?”

“Uh, no that’s alright.” he muttered as Kelly turned to the stainless steel drip coffee urn. Of course he really did need room for cream. Why in the hell did he say he didn’t? Maybe he should belay the hike and just head straight for the old folks home.

“That will be $3.75” Kelly said cheerfully as she slid him his coffee.

“Here you go,” he handed her a five. He almost added “Kelly” but didn’t want her to think he knew her name because he was stalking her. “Keep the change!”.

“Thanks!” She rewarded him with the briefest flash of a smile.

Ben turned, thankfully without knocking anything or anyone over and wove his way through the strollers, book bags, and laptop cords toward the door. Stepping into the parking lot he took a deep breath of the smoke tinted autumn air to clear his head. Looking toward his old slate blue 4x4 he could see the profile of the ridge he was climbing today sticking a snow covered thumb into the clear blue sky.

Yep, this is going to be quite a day.

Olympic National Park

Washington

Late Saturday afternoon

“Easy now goat, easy” Ben muttered in a low tone as his hiking boots painstakingly traced his path backwards along the trail.

Ben seriously doubted the goat was going to heed his advice. He could see the muscled hindquarters of the goat bunching up in preparation for the charge when suddenly there seemed to be a flurry in the air between them. Almost like a heat shimmer in the desert. Ben shook his head to clear his vision. He thought this must be a part of a near death experience or maybe a stress hallucination. Incredibly, the goat just froze in place. A glazed look replaced the death glare on its face and its entire body relaxed.

“What the bloody blue blazes is this now?” Ben said to himself. This day couldn’t possibly get any stranger than this.

He was proven wrong when suddenly there was a scrambling sound just over an outcropping to his right.

“EEEEEpppppp!” bleated something out of sight.

Ben just had to see this, near death or not his curiosity just wouldn’t let it slide. Besides, the goat seemed to have completely zoned out for now. He cautiously crept to the right side of the trail where a large granite outcropping loomed out from the ridge he was on and then dropped straight down 1000 feet to the valley floor.

Peeking over the humped rock he spotted a ball of white fluff with two black button eyes staring up at him. The baby goat was wedged into the cliff face about 6 feet down from the edge. Its body was resting on a very small node of rock jutting out from the sheer cliff face. It looked like one of its legs had plunged straight into a crack and there was no way it was going to extricate itself. No wonder mama was so upset. Ben looked carefully at the exposed rock face. Nope. Big nope. Ah fuck no way am I going to try this. Not my job. Why in hell didn’t I just stay in the coffee shop this morning? Ben thought as he began backing his way to the trail.

Then the baby bleated again. “baaaaaaaeeeeee”. Its eyes pinned Ben.

Crap, that sounded just like his name. Ben knew that the kid had a very nasty short life ahead. Trapped like that it would likely die a hard death over the next few days as thirst took it. Maybe it would be lucky enough to die before the crows and vultures found it and pecked it apart while still living. The baby goat quivered and again tried scrambling out of the crack to no avail. Dammit, he just couldn’t back away. No one could tell him that animals didn’t have emotions. Ben knew that the baby was terrified and that it somehow saw him as a last hope.

Alright then how to do this. Luckily he had left the house that morning with his favorite fishing belt. A worn but sturdy blue canvas and nylon construction from Simms. It looked long enough to make a loop around the little goat’s body and leave enough room for a handhold and he thought he could adjust it so that the little fur ball couldn’t slip through.

He slid his small nylon daypack off his back, slipped his belt out and wound it carefully around his neck tucking the ends into his flannel shirt where he could reach it easily. There was a tiny ledge about a handspan wide that angled down almost to the rock where the goat was pinned. There also were a few finger cracks that he might be able to use. Ben used to do some climbing as a young man, but he had taken a bad fall while working construction after getting out of the Marines 15 years ago. He was never quite the same and heights now terrified him. Oh well, didn’t want to live forever anyhow he thought paraphrasing an old Gunnery Sergeant he used to work with.

Ben rolled over the lip after anchoring his hands in two places at the top of the face. Thankfully, his feet found the ledge without too much problem. Dammit, it was a long way down. The empty air under him suddenly developed a steely presence. Cold air was blowing up the cliff face, chilling the sweat dripping off his forehead. He could smell himself and the fragrant pines 1000 feet below. He only had about 5 feet to traverse but it seemed like a mile. With his face pressed into the rough, wet granite, Ben slid his right hand out about 3 feet to the next crack. Once he wedged his fingers in, he began shuffling along the edge until had to let go with his left.