Ric Wasley - Blog

From 2/8/13 Update from 'Storm Central'... AKA, 'Coyote Junction'. Well closing in on 18" gang but did that keep yours truly, 'the Worlds Oldest Teenager', from x-country ... Nah. When it got to about 6", just before dark, I strapped on the long back-country Track skis and went out to my ravine trail for some dopey blizzard fun. The wind was really starting to howl but it wasn't bad underneath the trees and just about the time I was thinking, "hey... This is nothing to worry about... " Yup, you got it. I was coming down a narrow trail and tried a very unwise telemark turn and caught the right outside back edge, went off the trail, over a log and into a thicket.. Winding up with my right downhill ski uphill and tangled in briers. So what happened, you may well ask (and you do, don't you?) Well I'm supposed to be a writer. So if this was a suspense tale, I'd tell how... 'As darkness slowly gathered a deep gloom fell turning the white blowing snow into a dirty grey blanket of cold, twisted cotton rags. The steady swish of the wind brushing the tree tops broken only by soft, muffled plops as clumps of snow bent pine limbs and fell from overloaded branches. I tried to free my right foot from the binding but it was no use. I'd fallen at an oblique angle and couldn't reach the release catch, not even with my pole. Too late I remembered my wife asking me to bring my cell phone. Just another in the long list of good advice I didn't take. It was then I noticed the first pair of yellow-red eyes watching me from the other side of the thicket. A raccoon? Some wandering pooch looking for a warm fire and a bowl of Puppy Chow? Not bloody likely. And now the eyes at the edge of the thicket had been joined by a second pair and as I watched, a third. And then another. A pack. Coyotes. At least I had my emergency Deer Derringer. A single shot heavy but compact pistol used by hunters to give a wounded quarry the coup de grace. It could be loaded with either a single .45 caliber slug or a .410 shotgun shell. I favored the .410. It had a nice spread and would give the pack something to think about. I heard a low growl followed by a rustling in the bushes. I felt the comforting weight of the pistol next to my chest and turned my head to the left where I could see the eyes moving, edging closer, getting ready for a rush. Time to brush 'em back. I unzipped the inside pocket and wrapped my cold fingers around the butt. I sensed rather than saw one approaching me from behind. I leaned around, cocked the hammer and fired. Click. The hammer fell on an empty shell. With a sick feeling I remembered that the last time I'd put the gun away I'd left an empty shell in the chamber, for safety sake. Safety - right. The eyes in the darkness moved closer...