Retreat

The drive south on US 101 was a blur. I was barely hanging on to my emotions. Fortunately, New Hope runs had opened the way to the City, only to have the earthquake throw new challenges my way. I barely remember winching my rig over several slides large and small that day. As expected, San Rafael was a total ruin with new natural gas fires started by the earthquake of the morning before. I drove on to find that the 580 bridge to Richmond was totally clogged and probably irreparably damaged somewhere beyond that. A weathered sign that read "San Quentin" caught my eye and I shuddered at the thought of all those criminals escaping during the crisis. Remembering trying to come in the other way on I-80 and failing, I abandoned hope of getting across the San Francisco Bay easily.

I got out the drone and had it survey the scene. San Quentin was built in a way that the fires did little damage. But the earthquakes had, with some of the walls collapsed. A closer look showed me that all of the gates and fences were open. The prisoners probably had escaped or were let go. Perhaps the cause of much of the fighting at New Hope and other parts of the country. Escaped prisoners looking for revenge and loot. I continued south.

US 101 was built on piers into bedrock above the Bay and had weathered the earthquakes quite well, as well as built up high enough to still be above the water line of the Bay lapping at its edges. Aftershocks occasionally had me wandering in the lanes and, at this point, one sloshing the waters of the Bay over the rails and onto the road--but still passable.

The Bayside communities of Waldo and Sausalito were not so lucky. They were flooded by the Bay. But much of their population had been floating homes. I saw none of those from the highway high above. Like Adam had told me, the road was clear to San Francisco. But the earthquake had dropped away part of the north support for the Golden Gate Bridge and although the monument still stood stately with faded paint, 30 feet of the span was gone and I no longer could cross over to the City beyond. I could still see San Francisco from my vantage point. Burning again from the earthquake's shaking the day before. Shattered towers to mammon left to be gradually shaken to the ground over millennia of earthquakes to come. My sadness increased as I watched silently, and then, turned my rig around back north again on what was left of the overlook.

That evening, I was back where I left in the morning. More exhausted than before. I took another bath in the creek and made myself a lonely, but familiar, evening meal. I drank a bottle of brandy and fell off to sleep a troubled dream filled night. I awoke with Charlie and Rocky eager to get outside. It was nearly noon.

I couldn't leave without checking one more time. I hopped in the Jeep with my drone and a shovel. The Jeep started reluctantly, sputtered and finally smoothed out. I drove up the road to New Hope once more. I stopped where the slide ended and got out the drone. Flying over the remains of New Hope against hope, I looked for signs of life. I couldn't see the mine entrance. It was buried under tons of mountain. Above where the entrance had been was a depression. I flew closely over the mountain looking for side shafts or other possible escape routes and saw none. But there was life. The animals in the corrals were milling about even though some of the sheds were crushed.

Fortunately, the heat of the last two days had solidified the liquefied clay and made it a lot easier to walk on. Charlie, Rocky and I climbed up over the debris and boulder field and made our way to where the mine had been, climbing over the top of crushed vehicles, trailers, shacks and other buildings that made up the once vigorous community. Off to the left, I could still see the crosses of the cemetery in the distance. Off to the right were the gardens and corrals for the animals. I could see horses, cows, pigs, goats, chickens and ducks. Some free to roam, some not.

We worked our way there in a rescue mission. Rocky way ahead of us, barking. First, we pulled two cows and three goats from the slide that had been trapped for two days. I couldn't see them suffering, so I dug them out with my shovel and hands removing boards, rocks and mud until they were free. One of the cows and one of the goats were both injured badly and limped as they tried to walk. But I couldn't help them. They would have to fend for themselves.

What I could do was go to the end of the corrals, and open the gates so the animals could forage for themselves. I didn't have to do that for the pigs. They were already out and had already been all around the slide, rooting for food. I thought the pigs would live a lot longer than the cows and the goats would probably fare quite well, too. There were lots of chickens running around that I didn't give much chance of surviving coyotes, mountain lions, foxes, raptors and even wolves and other, smaller predators that were around. I already saw feathers where two chickens had been eaten by something. I didn't bother to check the tracks. The wild would take over. It was nature's way and I couldn't stop it.

We climbed up on the mountain as far as it was safe. The huge depression where the mine had been led me to believe that no one had escaped the roof and walls coming down inside. At least I hoped that was the case. Being trapped would be much worse without food, water and even, air. The situation would be very dire and they wouldn't last very long in unimaginable torture. I had to get rid of those thoughts--just too unbearable to think of. Hearing no sounds that even Charlie or Rocky picked up, we retreated to the Jeep and another bath. Something that was becoming a ritual. So was the bottle of brandy.

The next morning we drove north again. Taking familiar highways with unfamiliar, newly made, mudslides from the earthquake. We managed to make it back to Palm Springs in a week. But it was rough going. The earthquakes were just making the roads too difficult to travel. As productive as those fall runs to Oregon and Northern California had been, I doubted if I would go back. The memory of what happened at New Hope was just too painful to face. I never went back that way again.

But I had to find a better place to live. I was already 45 years old and the wear-and-tear of this vigorous life that made me so strong and remarkably healthy without a doctor or dentist, was beginning to wear on me like thoughts of coming upon old age without any protection or help from my own decline.

Every year was warmer and winter storms more intense, if brief. The tropics had invaded the southern United States and even the upper Midwest was too warm without air conditioning to sleep at night in the summer. The temperate zone had shifted further north. I thought about what I might do. Where I might go. Time and time again I was reminded of that lodge in the boreal forest of Hudson Bay where I spent those two terrible winters and had all the comforts and distractions keeping me from loneliness. I began to think that it was possible, while I was still young enough to do it, to go back there and live out my days.