The Owl Man Again

Went the visit the Owl Man today. Hadn’t actually planned to walk so far up the creek, but as I was laying in the crutch of a fallen log, playing my flute below the Mean Man’s Road, I saw a guy with a military-issue pack on his back walking by. He stopped and listened to the sound of my music, trying to figure out where it was coming from, but his ears were apparently less-attuned than most;  either that, or I’m pretty good at not being spotted, even while playing a dual-toned flute. 

He never spotted me.

But I got a good look at him, and I nearly choked. He looked so much like Grizzly Bear that I felt my hair stand on end. I’d spent my previous night venting to the girls on Rion’s front porch about how much of a dick that guy was to me, and every single one of them agreed that, “Hey, even if you do see him, he’s not worth a smile in passing. Oh, and punch him if he tries to talk to you.”

Seeing this guy on the road made me feel uncomfortable. No one is allowed on the road to begin with, and he was walking up there as if he owned it. I wondered if maybe he worked for the company at the top of the mountain. I wondered if he’d spot the Owl Man at his place by the creek, and I wondered if I should run ahead and warn him. But the Owl Man was a smooth-talker and a vigilant forest-dweller. He knew how to avoid conflict, and he knew how to avoid being seen.

Nevertheless, I put my flute back in the caribou hoof carrying case and scrambled up the trail, leaping and ducking and climbing up the rocks along the creek until I reached a spot where the path leveled out with the Mean Man’s Road. Though I knew it was a bad idea, I climbed up onto the roadside and hurried up to the area where the Owl Man was sure to be.

And sure enough, I spotted him with his dog, Sita, down the embankment not far from the road. He had been taking a creek bath and was wearing no pants, but thankfully, his shirt was long enough to cover everything. I called his name to let him know I was there, and Sita growled protectively as I headed down to meet them. The Owl Man put his shorts back on as Sita and I played fetch in the sand, then he packed a bowl in my pipe and we smoked and talked. He asked about my classes, and I told him about the park ranger who tried to arrest me. We concluded that he was a twisted man.

Earlier in the week, I had met a woman who’d been walking her two dogs along a vacant trail, and the ranger tried to give her a $400.00 fine because the pooches weren't on a leash. One was an Akita and the other was a Pit Bull. The ranger cited them as ‘dangerous’ breeds and even tried to increase the fine as a result, though thankfully, the tag was reduced to $200.00 in court because the woman brought the dogs with her to prove that they were friendly.

Later in the conversation, I thought I saw the guy with the military pack again, and Sita stared up the road in the same direction, but her head back down on her paws after a brief glance. I figured it was nothing, but said to the Owl Man, “I’ve been seeing ghosts everywhere today.”

“What kind of ghosts,” he asked curiously, taking a long drag on the pipe before handing it back to me.

I laughed. “Just thought I saw someone walking up here earlier that looked just like a guy I knew. An enemy of sorts.”

“You have enemies?” the Owl Man asked curiously. I shrugged. “Only one. And he’s not really an enemy, he’s just…” I fumbled for words, which the Owl Man found for me: “He’s just the subject of your intimate dislike.” And I had to smile.

But just then, Sita and I spotted movement on the Mean Man’s Road again. It was the guy who looked like Grizzly Bear. He stopped when he neared us, and I looked up at him with scrutiny, trying to tell if it was him or not. He looked so uncannily like him that I felt my hands ball into fists. But I said “Hey!” and the guy hurried off.

“Was it him?” the Owl Man asked. I shook my head. “Would he come here for you?” he ventured. And I shrugged again. “Doubt it,” I admitted, “But I came to know him all the places I wander. We went for a lot of hikes together out here.”

“You’re just worried that he’ll know where you are,” Owl Man observed with a knowing nod, “like you’ll find some part of him remaining out here.”

I agreed. But we both seemed satisfied that the traveler was not Grizz, and we smoked a few more bowls before I headed off back down the creek, promising to return next week. I moved low to the ground as I went, crouching on the rocks and listening ahead over the sound of the running water, just in case the traveler had left the roadside and was now moving along the creek as well.

Sure enough, as I leapt atop a particularly large boulder and perched momentarily, he was standing in the pool just a few yards downstream, looking somewhat startled by my sudden and quiet appearance. Knowing now that it was not Grizzly Bear, I merely paid him little mind and leapt down from the boulder to a smaller rock and continued on. By the time I got halfway to his former location, he’d disappeared up onto the road again and was hurrying away, almost as if he didn’t want to be seen.

I found this a little odd, but kept on going, running low to the ground and being as silent as possible. Though I wasn't running to or from anything, I figured it was good to stay in practice, as moving through terrain such as that is difficult and requires a quick eye and quicker feet.

Once I reached the pavement at the roadside, I adopted my normal stride and headed back to town.

Past a storefront, I heard someone call out, “Hey, miss!” and when I turned, a scrappy street man was standing there with a huge smile on his face. “You dropped you smile,” He informed me cheerily.

“I hope you picked it up for me,” I replied, and we ended up going to the nearby pizza place for lunch. It was apparent that, as a street man, he’d done a few too many drugs, and it had messed with his brain to extent that it was hard to keep up with him in conversation. His thoughts were like packing peanuts swept up in a wind tunnel. But he was happy and had a permanent smile on his face, which I appreciated. I gave him half of my pizza, since he was kind enough to pay for it in the first place, and I knew he needed it more than me. I’d have gotten it for myself, but he insisted. “Not every day you get to buy lunch for a pretty lady,” he said, and then added, “You actually look like that Avril chick, the singer chick, ya know? Like, if you were shorter by a few inches, and had a sweatshirt on with the hood up, I’d have sworn you were her. Met her at a bar once in Hollywood….” And his story went on from there.

Back at the dorms, I dropped my flute bag on the bed and paced the room a time or two. It was deathly boring here. I felt fidgety and depressed almost instantly, and would have gone back out for another walk, but I was getting a headache and my body was exhausted from my walk to see the Owl Man. To keep from going insane, I opted to take a nap and woke up when it grew dark outside.

Reflecting back on the day, I can say that it was pretty eventful and rather mind-opening. Strange things happen when I play that flute of mine, and the City of Ashland has a strange way of taking care of my wounds for me. I only hope that with the coming of winter, the depression and boredom won’t grow too much worse. I have, after all, lost many of my friends to the workforce, and Rion’s house, though always open to me, has been a place of drama since he broke up with his girlfriend. On the bright side, there is always the Owl Man, and I always have my music to keep me company….

The Owl Man

I'm really out of shape. Got to the fort and tidied it up for proper living. Not too hard, as it seems that someone else has been here before me. It’s quiet. High fire danger. Just going to have a cook-fire tonight and nothing more. Left my gear in cave and will try to find the pond before nightfall.  

Didn't find the pond on a map. Found one of the many mine shafts scattered throughout the mountains instead. Found lighter and incense at back of said mine, which I lit and rested on a rock, then played my flute in the dark. I'll admit, I was half-expecting to find Grizzly Bear there, and when I heard the echo of my flute fade away, I half-expected to hear my friend’s demented screams take the music’s place. I was terrified. But heading back into the light, I felt much stronger. I know many people who would could never have done it. If I hadn’t had my flute with me, I probably wouldn’t have myself.

Hard to sleep last night with no fire. Woke up early, tidied up the camp a bit, then went back to sleep. Woke a while later. Ear hurt. Piercing is infected and swollen. Hole was plugged with pus that smelled quite bad when I tried to clean it out. Won’t stop bleeding. Had to take a photo of it so I could assess the damage, since I don’t have a mirror. Looks like it will need antibiotics. Cleaned with water. Need more water. Must find water today.

Ear is still a bloody mess. Couldn't find water. Maps were misleading. Any water they showed was already dried up or too hard to get to in the steep terrain. Stunning views, though. No manmade structures to be seen anywhere. I’d love to stay here in the mountains but with so little water around, it would be impossible. Heading down toward Lithia Park. Hate to be so close to people now. Want to stay put in the woods. But I spotted cougar tracks on the trail. Don't want to be so close to a large predator without a decent structure for safety and the cliff overhang is not suitable due to the high amounts of human traffic passing through nearby. This cougar was a big cat to boot. Paw as wide across as my hand.

Wanting to return to civilization now. Ear is hot to the touch. Still bleeding slowly and oozing some kind of clear yellowish liquid. Even if I found water now, I probably couldn’t stay another night out here without antibiotics. I hate to face this reality – Ashland seems boring without my friends there to keep me company. The woods are much better.

Hiked back to the parking area to find the path that leads back into town, miles and miles away. I know it will be a long trek, which I’d been planning to cover in two days instead of just one, but now the game has changed. I wish I'd picked a place I'd been to before. I wish the summer hadn't been so dry.

On the trail, I ran into an old man and his dog. Old man had a pack on his back and looked rugged; watery bloodshot eyes, stubbly white facial hair, and a weathered face. Made him look like an old owl. His dog was skin and bones. But both were happy. He asked how long I'd been out. Not long, I admitted. I asked how long he'd been out and he laughed. Said he lived there. Would show me his camp and I could sleep there and get water if I wanted. He was obviously a kind, bright man with an impressive understanding of life in the woods, though he went about things in his own way and had had no formal wilderness survival training. Nevertheless, I looked up to him.

We smoked a few bowls on a downed log not far off the trail and then I followed he and his dog, Sita, down a steep mountainside to a clearing he had leveled out. Had been there 7 years. Loved life in the woods. Had been a businessman, working in the corporate world, with people under him doing anything he wished. By the way he talked of his past life, I knew it was something he wasn’t proud of. He’d chosen a life in the woods because it was simple, and free of drama and politics, and made him feel human again. We talked of how people who call people like us 'homeless' simply have no idea what kind of life they are missing. They are so afraid of the woods. The Owl Man and I are not. He shares some water with me and we smoke some more, talking in-depth about the order of the world, laughing and, at many times, on the verge of tears. I play my flute for him. Sita wants to play fetch.

Sita is a slinky black dog that looks like a cross between a black Lab and a golden retriever. Her hair is smooth and silky across most of her body aside from her belly, tail, and the back of her legs, which feature longer tufts of fur that catch the pine needles as she walks. Her muzzle is white around the cheeks, as if she’s old, but the Owl Man assures me she’s still in her prime despite her looks. With a sad expression, the Owl Man says she’s skin and bones because of some mysterious illness, and I can tell that he is deeply concerned for her. He has brought her to the vet’s office several times, but they cannot provide an explanation and want to run tests. But the tests cost money, of which he has none. Says money makes people evil. And yet, despite her condition, Sita is a sunny, happy dog who wants nothing more than for the Owl Man and I to throw sticks for her to catch. She stares into my eyes and I feel her talking to me. The Owl Man understands what she says as clearly as he hears me, but I have a harder time learning her language. Nevertheless, she is patient with me and teaches me how to throw sticks for her in a manner that she most likes. I tell the Owl Man how lucky he is to have her as a companion animal. He smiles and tells me of his previous dog, Sita’s mentor, a German shepherd named Jake, who faced off with a mountain lion for him and ran with the coyotes at night. I’d have liked to have met Jake.

At midday, it's time to walk to the creek to get water for Sita. The Owl Man said he'd show me the path back into town from there if I really want to go. Reminds me that I'm still welcome at his place. There's another camp downhill from him that I could occupy as well if I’d like a bit more privacy, yet it's close enough that I could walk up the hill to join him for dinner at night and breakfast the next morning. He shows me where it’s at on the way to the creek. Calls the place 'Chicago' because the people who lived there beforehand were from there. Wandered in one day and joined the Owl Man, though much to his dismay, they weren't cut out for life in the woods. They left right quick, and probably for the better. The Owl Man talked of how he hates drama. They were drama.

Drama is fabricated by people who want a more interesting life. But it’s a fake interestingness. It’s not real. Real life is fending off a mountain lion with two dogs and a tree branch, or running into a wonderful stranger in the woods.

Down at the creek, Sita enjoys the water. I notice trout in the pool and get out my gear. Catch a tiny trout within 5 minutes but it's too small. I take the trout off the hook. Despite my joy in catching the fish, I know it’s not right to kill it, which is why I’ve crimped down the barbs on all my hooks, thus causing less damage to a fish if I wish to throw it back. I do so and try again, hoping to catch something for the Owl Man’s dinner, but the fish are more wary now and refuse to bite, so I end up empty-handed.

The Owl Man shows me the trail to take back to town. He once more offers me a place to stay the night. We could cook hot dogs and noodles and smoke some more. But I promise to come visit him another time. He gives me a big hug and I toss a few more sticks for Sita, who seems to know I’m leaving and begs me with her eyes to stay. So I stand a while longer with the two. Owl Man and I talk of Poe and Hawthorne, and I finally leave. I can tell he is lonely. But even so, he is happy with his life, and I have much respect for him. He is able to live in the woods because no one but a small handful of people are even aware of his existence, and they bring him food and water out of the kindness of their hearts. In much the same way, the Owl Man showed me kindness in giving me water and sharing his weed with me, then offering me a place to stay. He trusted me enough to show me where his camp was, and I plan to go back and visit him often, bringing more books for him to read and hopefully some information and medication to help Sita recover.

I think of all this as I walk down the trail that the Owl Man has told me to follow. Stop to pick blackberries. Best I've ever had. Not too sweet and not too tart. In my state of survival mode, I think of collecting a whole bunch in one of my empty canteens, but the pack is too heavy to take on and off for such a trivial thing. I'll be back in town soon anyhow. Must remind myself not to waste energy. It’s a long trek, after all.

Finally make it to the reservoir just before sundown and try fishing there, planning to cook it back at the dorms that night. Trout here are smarter. They take the bait but not the hook. Hook is too big. So I walk up to the Fairy Ponds and try there. Am interrupted by a park ranger. The Owl Man has warned me about him; says he’s mean as all hell, and something of a pervert, too – I suspect this means he likes to watch the girls swim naked. Ranger asks to see my fishing license, which I show him. He seems surprised I have one, and asks if I fish often. I tell him yes - I've fished all over the world. Even hand-lined a shark once. He then asks if it's legal to fish in the pond. I tell him I don't know - that's his job. I don't have the book on me. So he asks then if I'm camping there for the night, nodding toward the thirty-five-pound pack I’ve got with me. I tell him no, I'm not stupid - I know camping isn't allowed there.  He asks then why I have the backpack, so I tell him the half-truth: I just got back from visiting a friend across town. He seems satisfied with this, and allows me to continue fishing. Says I have to read the book “The River Wild” as my get-out-of-jail-free card and asks what I’m doing with me life. An odd question from a ranger, but I tell him I’m a taxidermist studying Fine Art at SOU. He tells me he’s a hunter himself, but has always left the hides in the field to rot. I feel my stomach knot at the thought of letting such a thing go to waste. The Owl Man is right – the ranger is a nasty man.

On the walk back into town, I feel exhausted. It’s getting dark. I have blisters which are filled with water, and my muscles ache all down the backs of my legs. I had no idea I was so out of shape. I feel guilty all over again. I feel as though I’ve let myself down. Later, further into town, I run into a guy who asks where I've been traveling, so I tell him I've spent the night in a cave. He probably thinks I'm just a crazy drifter and smiles, “Gotta find my own cave for the night, then!” he jokes, referring undoubtedly to the fact that all the hotels in town are full on account of the Shakespeare Festival.

Finally, back at the dorm, I clean the infected ear, forcing out the last of the ooze until new, bright blood leaks out in its place. he hydrogen peroxide bubbles up on contact with the sore, but I can't feel anything. Once that's taken care of, I take a nice long shower. I try to crash but cannot sleep. I have eaten and am not hungry, but I make some tea instead and watch some TV.

I'll go back to visit the Owl Man sometime before the weather gets too harsh. He is a good man with an excellent education and an impeccable vocabulary which he has undoubtedly picked up from his vast library of books. I'll bring him some more reading material if I find something I think he may enjoy. I feel kind of like he's the father-friend I never had and I know we have a lot to teach one-another. I want to help Sita, too. Thinking of starting some kind of fundraiser on Etsy for her. Sell a few things to pay for a vet to figure out what’s wrong. I know the Owl Man loves her so much, and it breaks his heart the see her suffer. He said she used to be even more playful than she is now, and I can imagine it. They live a beautiful life, and a part of me wants to join them.  Yet I know I have an obligation and many ties to my life here in the world of cars and computers and money. 

That doesn’t mean I can’t visit. And that doesn’t mean I can’t dream, either....