Chapter 12

Getting Charlie set up became Tiny's Saturday project. In the car, he picked up a newspaper so that Charlie could sit down, and turned to the classifieds. "We'll hit a few of these on the way," he said. Charlie had barely set his bags on the floor when Tiny plopped the paper back in his lap. "Hold that." He started backing out, glanced at Charlie again. "And buckle up. This here's Orygun." Charlie didn't quite make the connection. Was he talking about a state law? Or was he saying it was particularly dangerous here? While Charlie was still wondering, Tiny hit the freeway so fast that the tires squealed. Maybe both, Charlie decided, and he closed his eyes and clutched the shoulder strap.

At the first yard sale, Charlie picked up a canvas backpack, in near-perfect condition, for $2. Back in the car he placed his worn plastic bags inside. The next few sales didn't help much, but Tiny seemed to be having a good time. At one he even talked a guy into selling him some of the firewood he had stacked at the side of the house, and Charlie helped him fill the trunk of his car. Then, at the fifth yard sale, Charlie struck gold. With the $20 Joe had given him, plus the last $20 from his own pocket, he got a small tent, a sleeping bag, even a thin foam pad.

Charlie watched the scenery through the car window. They were in a valley, and it seemed like every horizon was mountainous. They left Medford after stopping at a food warehouse. Charlie carried his jacket on his arm, tried to access the lining when no one was looking and slip one of the bills into his pocket. Stocked with water, matches, a few snacks for a dinner Charlie was still sure he'd never want, after that breakfast — even a sweatshirt — he parted with another $40. If he gave Tiny only $10 for an entire morning's work, he would have only $150 left…

"How much is the campground?" Charlie asked as they accessed Highway 62.

Tiny shrugged. "Cain't be much. It's a county park. And this here's Orygun."

In spite of his concern Charlie smiled. He had discovered the gem of the universe, apparently — at least according to Tiny.

Every few miles he saw road signs announcing the name of a city — but somehow, he kept missing the cities. The road began a series of curves, the trees became magestic. Charlie drank in the view. All this was so close to Pasadena? He had to get out more. He saw the sign for Shady Cove — population 2,307 — noticed the businesses. Fishing outfitters, raft rentals…Charlie could smell a serious river coming up. He was looking forward to this campground.

Suddenly, they were there. Rogue Elk county park. They stopped at the entrance so Charlie could drop his $16 fee in a locked wooden box, take his permit from a slot below it. "This early in the season, ya pretty much gotcher pick," observed Tiny as they drove slowly through, and Charlie soon picked a spot right on the river. It was all he could do to pull himself away from the water long enough to start taking his stuff out of Tiny's car. Tiny popped the trunk and started throwing the wood by the fire pit.

"That's for me?"

The bigger man smiled. "Sure. Nights still get pretty cool around here. Grab that newspaper — you can use it to help start a fire."

Charlie shoved a hand in his pocket. "Please, let me…"

Tiny paused between tosses to hold up a hand. "Keep yer money, Charlie. Can't have a buddy of Joe's freezin' on the river. Besides, this here's…"

"I know," Charlie interrupted, grinning. "This here's Orygun."

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Charlie set up his camp, bare as it was, explored the campground. Only a few other sites contained gear, and he only saw a few people. The restrooms had flush toilets — that was good — even showers. Joe had let him have the "free shower with fill-up" that morning at the truck stop, so he wasn't desperate anymore, but he wished he had thought to buy a towel.

He was drawn back to the river. Being early May, it was still swollen with recent rains and snowmelt from the surrounding mountains. The waters ran swiftly by, green and deep in some places, white ripples breaking over rocks in others. Larry would love this, Charlie thought, and he missed his friend again. He missed all his friends, and his father. He missed teaching. Of course, it had only been three days. One hell of a three days, but still…

He stood on the bank and listened to the roar the river made when you were this close. Funny, he did a fair amount of hiking and camping, but in-between, he always forgot how loud water could be. And Charlie had to admit it, this river was something else. Sometimes, it almost sounded angry. His eyes went again to the trees. He could look at this forever.

He wandered back to his campsite, suddenly tired. He opened the sleeping bag onto the ground. It was still warm, and he didn't want to be inside right now, not even in a tent. He lay on his back, and counted clouds, until the sound of the river lulled him to sleep.

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He awoke several hours later, freezing. It was almost dark, and someone was throwing his wood around, standing almost on top of him. Charlie involuntarily yelped as he shot off the sleeping bag, stumbling backwards, looking frantically around him for something to protect himself with.

"Whoa, hold up there, take it easy." The man held up a stick of wood. "I'm just starting your fire for you. Been watching you for two hours, and my wife is convinced you're going to freeze to death. I told her this was a bad idea, coming into someone else's camp…HEY! Don't back up anymore, you're going into the river! If you think it's cold out here, I wouldn't recommend the river in May."

Charlie stopped, breathing heavily. "Who are you?", he finally managed.

"Sam." The man knelt down, kept working on the fire. He reached into his pocket, took out a matchbook, lit the paper. "Brought you some kindling," he added. "All you got is big pieces, here." He continued to feed the fire, looked up at Charlie. "Hey. Mr. Deer-in-the-Headlights. Got a name?"

Charlie came a little closer to the fire. If he was going to die, he wanted to be warmer when he did it. "Charlie."

Sam added one of Charlie's pieces of firewood. "Well, Charlie, Jenna says you should come to dinner. Fresh Spring Salmon, caught it this morning. First thing I've caught in 'near a week. You like fish?"

Charlie couldn't believe it, but Sam talking about food was making his stomach growl. He took one step closer. "Yes."

"That's us over there," Sam indicated with a swing of wood, and Charlie peered a few campsites over. Someone waved at him. "We'll get this fire going good, first." Charlie's stomach rumbled again, this time loudly enough to embarrass him. He saw Sam's grin in the firelight as he placed another log, slowly stood. "Right," he said. "It's going good enough for now."