We’d risen in the dark, had a quick breakfast and hurried down the stairs to the street. No one had a garage in our neighborhood, the steep hillside the houses perched on, and their close proximity prevented such luxuries but in the 1960s no one considered this an inconvenience. Dad and I jumped into the VW Bug.
The faithful car started immediately; it always did. We were fully dressed; VW heaters were pitiful, barely managing to keep the windshield clear. But, for traction, even on the slickest roads, you couldn’t beat a VW.
A 30-minute drive took us to the big flats near the airport. We put the flashers on, quickly grabbed shovels and attacked the roadside drifts clearing a parking spot. Dad made sure I had my map, lunch, watch, matches and a compass.
The rolling flats were interspersed with low identical ridges, swales and swaths of red brush. Even after hunting this area for several years, it was easy to become completely turned around. Without a compass you were literally lost.
The easy part was the road ran due East and West. Simply heading North or South brought you out. There were a few scattered, recognizable landmarks here and there.
A large grove of big hemlocks on a point and an occasional remaining section of cable marked the boundary of an abandoned oil lease. Here and there grew unique, even grotesque, black cherry trees each with their own distinctive twisted trunks and irregular, gnarled limbs. The hilltops’ sparse, acidic soil was no doubt responsible for their tortured shapes.
We had names for them: The Old Man, Twisted Widow, Broken Fingers and The Watcher. They were orientating, even interesting in an otherwise indistinguishable landscape. Dad said we’d meet at the hemlocks at noon.
He grinned, confident of my ability to be there and we split up. I was 16 years old and thanks to Dad, competent in the forest. When I was 10 years old, we hiked this same location in late summer.
At noon Dad suggested a fire and handed me a single wooden match. I grinned, making fires was a passion. I stuck a Y shaped dead twig in the ground, gathered the tiniest, dry twigs possible from a low hemlock, made a teepee with an opening near the bottom.
After collecting larger dead limbs I lit the match, inserted it into the center of my tiny twigs and in a few seconds, they were burning briskly. Gradually increasing limb size resulted in a hearty blaze. “Building a fire can save your life.
” Dad told me. “Fires the only thing separating us from animals in the wilderness. You did a good job, proud of you.
” Who doesn’t love praise? It’s amazing how few people can efficiently build a fire nowadays; they have no idea at all. After toasting our sandwiches, father asked. “Which way is the car son?” I looked around and pointed.
Dad grinned. “Use your compass, remember the map we studied, which way’s the car?” “North.” He agreed.
Checking the compass showed North was in the exact opposite direction I was facing. Everything seemed all wrong, the compass had to be faulty. Dad was watching me quizzically, appreciating the struggle on my face.
“I think the compass is broken, Dad.” He didn’t answer, just stood there a moment and said, “Lead the way, I’ll follow.” A great struggle began inside between trusting my instinct or the compass in my hand.
Finally, largely because Dad was watching, I turned and followed the compass. What a relief when cars were heard on the road and our VW appeared through the trees. He patted me on the back.
“Life’s like that son. It’s important to do what’s right, despite ourselves.” Isn’t it funny how certain things stick in your mind? I’ve never forgotten those words.
At noon the hemlocks appeared simultaneously with Dad, both of us arriving at the same moment despite miles of walking. Surprisingly, simultaneous arrivals are common in my experience. After building a fire, we toasted our sandwiches, talked of deer and the wind, animals we’d seen.
After sitting in compatible silence for several minutes Dad looked at me. “Well, you’re 16 now, have your driver’s license. It’s unbelievable how fast times gone by.
In just two years you’ll be off to college and pretty much on your own. Won’t leave you much when I leave this world, but it’d be nice for you to consider a few things. Think of your compass.
Do you trust it, rely on it?” I shook my head yes. “Absolutely, it will always keep you out of trouble. You’re from a good family, there’s a compass inside.
Use it. You can build a fire with a single match. Fire will cook your food, keep you warm, possibly save your life.
It’s a skill, learn others, as many as you can, they’ll become very important. Today, despite the territory we’ve covered and despite its complexity, we arrived at our goal. Few can do what we did, though you think nothing of it.
Life can twist and turn you around, but there will be landmarks and good people to help you reach your goal.” I sat silently, Dad didn’t moralize much, seldom talked like this. He picked up his rifle, turned and said, “See you at the car.
” Soon he was lost to sight, but his words remained..
