The beacon’s rescue signal was transmitting. I kept my back to the split trunk and my face to the trail and I waited for the light to go, and then I waited in the dark, and I did not move from that spot until I heard the ranger’s quad bike on the access road at nine forty-three p.m.
I told the ranger about the man. She took notes and said very little.
On the drive back she mentioned, once, that Carrow Ridge had a history of hikers losing their way at the north valley. Seven reported incidents in the last decade.
“Has anyone ever mentioned a man on the trail?” I asked. “Older. Walking poles.”
She was quiet for a moment.
“They all mention him,” she said.
She didn’t say anything else, and I didn’t ask. Some questions have answers that don’t help you sleep.
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