6

Along about 3:30, we were standing at the entrance to the mine. Before us stood Slim, a miner wearing pinstriped cotton pants and a black vest, over fire engine red long underwear. Perched on his head was a pork-pie hat that he had folded up I front. He had a runny, red nose and watery eyes, and every few seconds paused in his explanation of how the mine was worked to hack and wheeze and complain about how it was ruining his health. We stood well back from him. Whatever he had, we sure didn't want it.

As Slim was passing out hardhats and stressing that we must wear them in the mine, Mike pointed up the nearby hill and exclaimed, "Look at that! What's that."

Slim took a look, "Mule deer. They come down here for the water. Just ignore it."

The deer didn't make it that easy, stumbling noisily down off the hill, entering the mine area --- seemingly oblivious to our presence. It had a sad, stupid, moth-eaten air about it, that made me nervous as it came closer and closer. Could it be rabid, or was this a perfectly normal mule deer? It seemed about to come up to us, when suddenly there were flashes a-popin' as the scouts whipped out their cameras and indulged in a little nature photography. The deer didn't like that at all and ran away awkwardly. Slim just gave a hacking cough and resumed his talk as though nothing had happened.

We donned hardhats and followed the sick man into the heart of the mountain. Our flashlights and helmet lanterns lit him with thin yellow light as he sniffled and wiped his watery eyes and explained about the shoring of the shaft. He stumbled along, showing us the branching tunnels that had been blasted out of the rock. With trembling hands, he demonstrated how the drilling and blasting was done in the damp, chilly depths of the mountain. Then he gaspingly asked that we turn off our lights and promise on our honor to leave them off. By the glow of his lantern, he got us into a line pointed back the way we had come and had us place our hands on each others shoulders chain-gang fashion. Then, he shouted, "Now find your way out!" and ran away cackling and coughing down the shaft. When he turned the first corner, we found ourselves in complete and utter darkness.

We shuffle along with only the exclamations of our neighbors to guide us. "It goes left now. Watch out! Puddle! Puddle!" Then came the clonk of helmet against wood. "Low bridge! Boy, am I glad I'm wearing this helmet!" Suddenly, a light flares and there is a leering Slim, not a foot from my face. Startled, I reel away and crash into the opposite wall, praying that he is not contagious. Then, darkness again and the long shuffle in the dark, surrounded by my fellows. Five minutes pass and I start getting tired of this, but look! What's that ahead? Yes, streaks of daylight beeming through the plank-made door of the mine. We stumble out into the late afternoon sunlight and happily breath the warm, dry mountain air --- free at last from the fetid mine.

As we walked away, everyone agreed that it had been excellent fun. Then, here was a laughing Slim, comfortably propped against a rock with a large jug of what he claimed was medicine cradled in his lap. And you know that stuff must have been good too --- he no longer seemed sick at all.

It was now pushing 5 o'clock and we wasted no time in starting up the mountain toward Thunder Ridge. We needed water, and we needed to get moving toward Red Hills if we were to make it in daylight. Five minutes along I was blown from the climb and called a halt. I could tell that frequent stops would hurt the morale of the peppier guys, and so we decided to split into groups and meet at the top. In no time, everyone was gone, racing upward to the iodine tablets and a drink of pure water. The fastest of them made it in just the same time it took to come down, 23 minutes. I on the other hand, took an hour to go back up. I was not entirely alone though. My son, Pete, who a year ago would have been up there with the leaders, hung back with his dad and I appreciated the gesture --- no solitary clinking through the woods for this old fellow. We kept at it, but enjoyed the scenery as we went. We talked of where we had been and what we would do in the coming weeks, and I was pleased to have the company of my sixteen year old son.