in Grand Lake and I jumped at the opportunity when I realized I would be working in the Rocky Mountain National Park.
With my military background and my expertise in getting out of nasty places, tracking people down and following animal trails, it became clear I could be an asset when there was the necessity of finding missing campers or hikers that had gotten themselves in dire situations so I was assigned a slightly different position in Jewel where the local NPS Resource Protection and Visitor Management division has its base.
I’ve been here for about three years now and I really find my job fulfilling.
I’m the head of the search and rescue emergency unit of the division. So off-season, unless I’m needed, I get to spend as much time as I want in the woods where I’m happiest and feel more at ease.
I only ever go in town when I have to get groceries, when Mike, the sheriff, needs assistance with something or in case a bear or other wild animal gets too curious and wanders too close to town’s limits. In the busy months, when we have more visitors, I have to go down to our offices a little more often to issue special permits or to attend staff meetings, but mostly I get away with working from home a lot, unless someone gets lost in the Rockies. In that case, I’m up and running and I don’t see my cabin again until I get everybody out safe, no one gets left behind.
In many ways, I’m still what I always was but I’m also very different in several aspects, that’s for fucking sure.
Focusing on things was never a problem for me before but since after I got injured, unless I make a conscious effort, I find that my mind wanders far more easily when I watch a movie or read a book or when I’m having a conversation.
I was never as friendly as Jonny was, but I wasn’t exactly the antisocial recluse I’m now either.
I can’t stand crowds anymore, I get easily irritated if there are too many people around and my social circle is very small, but I don’t mind the solitude. If I did, I wouldn’t have chosen to live deep in the woods in a log cabin all by myself, but I like the quiet and unless it’s for work, stocking up or my friend Mike and his wife really nag me to go visit, I never go into town.
It’s not that I don’t like Jewel, that little town’s a beaut, but I’m too much of a loner to live in such a noisy place and that’s why I built my own cabin so far up this side of Gleam Peak. I liked that I’m pretty much alone on ‘my’ side of the mountain.
I live only an hour hike from the summit, a ten-minute-drive from the west entrance of the park, and a fifteen-minute-drive from Jewel itself, which means I have all the privacy and peace I need, without being completely off the grid.
I don’t like cramped living spaces, too many years in the Army sharing tiny living quarters with men as big as I was and constantly bumping into things and having to crouch down to get through doors, made me wise up and tailor this cabin from someone of my size.
The place is pretty utilitarian —I don’t like fancy things—, but it’s cozy and so big I could easily entertain and house ten people if I was so much inclined —which I’m not— and I might like a quiet simple life immersed in wild and untamed nature, but after fourteen years roughing it up and making do, I splurged on all the comforts: I have running water, internet connectivity, a huge fireplace, a generator and a heater than never fail me in the colder winter months and there’s even a large attached garage for my bike, my work pickup and my personal truck.
It doesn’t feel like a home, though. It’s just a place I live in. I don’t know why that is, but I don’t really feel at home anywhere.
Today it seems like I really can’t get my mind not to drift back where it shouldn’t and even breaking a sweat on the bench didn’t help distract me.
I stack my weights back in their place and leave the gym.
I’m considering if I should go for a run before or after getting myself some breakfast when I see I have a text from Mike.
‘Something came