Atlantis Chronicles: Prince of The Olympics

1958

“There is no way that I’m ever going to do this again!” grumbled Woody Oliver.

“Brandon has been missing for a week now. A week! That calls for some drastic measures,” replied his copilot, looking out the window through large binoculars.

“If I’m not really careful,” Woody stressed, “They’re going to end up searching for our bodies along the tops of one of these mountains.”

As the young Cessna 172 roared among the glacial peaks, his copilot, Rob Fellows, turned to face him.

“You know, whenever you look over from Seattle, you never realized how rugged these mountains are. There is not much down there above that timberline, and there is not much we can see under those trees.” Woody strained to steady the plane as yet another gust of wind drove them toward the rocks.

“Yeah, these Olympics are pretty small when you compare them to the Himalayas, the Rockies, or even the Cascades, but they have definitely earned the title of ‘mountain.’ I tell ya Rob, I haven’t been this tense during a flight since Korea!”

“Come on. This is our final leg. Heck, Brandon was lost well south of here anyway. He was down around Hamma Hamma. The chances of him being way up here are small.” Rob scoured another tree filled canyon with the binoculars. After a week alone, there is no telling how Brandon’s body would be holding up, even if he was alive. The weather broke just last night. The summer rains and the accompanying winds would make life difficult for someone in an exposed area, especially at this altitude.

“Jeez!” Woody put the Cessna into a tight left turn. “There was smoke on that ridge!”

“On the ridge? I sure didn’t see anything along the tree line. I wasn’t looking on the ridge!” Rob repeated.

Woody added, “There shouldn’t have been any smoke. How could a fire burn with all that wind? It was probably just some fog, or a whisp of a cloud. I just wanna be sure.” He dropped the nose of the plane and flew along the ridge instead of across it as before. He came in no more than 200 feet above the rocks. Sure enough, the short line of smoke was blue. At its end was a figure dressed in gray huddled near a small fire and a second figure, wearing Brandon’s reported blue jacket and orange sock cap, sprinting towards them waving his arms. Woody waggled the wings, then circled around for one more pass.

“Rob, I need you to pull out that map of our search pattern. Try and figure out which ridge they’re on. I’ll climb out above these mountains and radio all that information ahead. That way, they can

get a rescue party headed up, pronto.”

On the last fly by, Rob noticed both figures standing and waving through the binoculars. The second figure was now standing by Brandon. Then Woody pointed the nose high to the east, climbed out

above the peaks, and reached for the hand-held mike.

X

“Roger dispatch. Out.”

Doug turned to Wes Larsen and Anders Green, also volunteers on the search for Brandon Cross.

“A plane spotted two kids, one matching Brandon’s description on the north leg of their run. Turn around, we need to go north. They say the kids are on a ridge north of Crystal Peak, near Mt. Anderson, between the Elwha and Hayes rivers.”

“Two kids?” Wes boomed, “I thought we were looking for Brandon?”

Darren replied, “Well, I guess he took a friend with him.”

“The Elwha? Well that’s way up. . .”

“Yep! There was confirmation from the new ski lodge at Hurricane Ridge. But, we’ve gotta get to Dosewallips and come at them from the trails in the east. Grayson will set up a command office there in the meantime. He’s on the horn with the park service in Port Angeles right now to see if they can send some rangers on the trail south, but even they will take ten to twelve hours hiking in the wilderness to

reach them. The sooner we get into the hills, the better chance we have of being a part of it. After a week, that kid will definitely need some medical help.”

X

“Brandon? Brandon Cross?” The shout echoed up from the valley on his left.

“Yeah! Here! I’m here! Still on the ridge!”

“Brandon! We’re just minutes away! Stay where you are! We’ll be right there!

Brandon sat anxiously by the fire. He tried to remember the previous days. He had left the campsite early to hike to the top of the hill above camp, only to discover a snowy mountain top that sure didn’t

look so very far away. He went on, expecting to arrive at the snow at any minute. Instead, he realized with horror, that the clouds and fog had rolled in, he could no longer tell one direction from another.

After the rain started beating down, he somehow lost the hiking trail. So, he decided to travel downhill only, no matter how slowly he had to go. But then the wind started picking up. He was cold, wet and

lost. Darkness brought only himself, alone, shivering beneath a tree. He soon realized that going downhill was inviting disaster. The mud and loose rocks were lying just below a bed of Fir needles. He turned around and started to climb, which was no easy feat in the rain and wind. A few times he lost his way, and had to go laterally. Soon, the wind wasn’t blowing rain, but snow! Imagine that . . . snow! In

June! He could barely see. For a while, he found some rocks to hide behind. He stayed there for a two nights, melting snow for water. When the wind calmed, he set out and soon realized he had no idea which direction to head. He avoided climbing or descending. He was cold, starving and exhausted. He was careless. He walked for a couple hours before he fell. Then there was only pain.

When he woke up, ‘Manny’ was there. He ate. He slept. Somehow, he was warm. The pain grew smaller as the hours wore on. Now, his wrist was absolutely fine. There was a little pain in his shoulder and some lingered in his left leg, but not really even enough for some aspirin.

After that plane spotted them yesterday, Manny had left him two log rolls for the fire. He told him where to light the logs, and how long they’d burn. Manny even gave him the rest of his food. Without Manny’s help, Brandon figured he probably wouldn’t be doing so well.

This morning, he woke to find no sign of Manny. Not even a note. Brandon was sorry that he hadn’t even thanked Manny for saving his life.

“There he is!”

Brandon saw a group of six people head toward him. “Hi guys!”

“Hi, Brandon! I’m Dr. Douglas Taylor. This is Wes Larsen, Anders Green, Rick Delby, Ranger Eugene Sartonni, and Ranger Jesse Markham. You’ve had us all worried, son.”

Brandon stood and was sure to shake every hand offered to him. At least these rescuers would be properly thanked.

“So, Brandon, are you ready to head back toward civilization?” asked Sartonni.

“Anytime you are, Ranger!”

“Wait . . . wait! I’d like the chance to examine you before we start back down. You have been missing for nearly nine days now,” said Dr. Taylor.

“Nine days? Manny never told me.”

“Hey? Where is the other kid they saw with you?” asked Anders.

“Uh. He left sometime last night. Don’t worry though, he always did his food foraging at night.”

“Doctor? Gentlemen?” Rick interrupted, I recommend that we get off this ridge, quickly, before we loose the light and have to make camp here. Brandon, you can fill us in on your adventures while we check you out later. In the meantime, you look about as fit as any of us, and it’s an hour’s hike back down to the trail.”

1969

Sophia Sondreau knew that she was in trouble. The contractions were a little over two minutes apart now.

“. . . gurrunnnh!” That one had been tough. She slipped the car into gear, then unbuttoned her corduroy pants. She wasn’t going to make it all the way to Howie’s house, her fiancée, in Port Townsend. Her blue Buick Skylark was barely moving along the road on the shores of Lake Crescent. Sophia prayed that she could hold off at least long enough to get to Lake Crescent Lodge. People might be there. Hers was the only car on the road this late on Christmas eve.

Two and a half years ago, a two-hundred-year-old Ozette Indian village was found under sand and mud at the shores of Lake Ozette. Washington State University was asked to send a couple of anthropology students, and a staff member over for the summer to help with the dig. Sophie was lucky. She had been invited to join the crew. Then in August, when Jim, the dig education supervisor, asked Sophie to work into the school year for college credits, she jumped at the opportunity. It was a desk job, but being pregnant, she was limited. She couldn’t get up and down in the sand and mud like the other

anthropology students. That’s why she was so late leaving the dig. She had been cataloging the day’s work.

“Oh, No!” She braked, and brought the car to a stop just as another contraction struck. Growing up near Coulee City, she had seen many wildcats, one of which had done considerable damage inside her

mother’s chicken coop. She imagined a wildcat loose inside her belly, trying to find its way out. The pain was unbearable. Then it subsided, and Sophie climbed outside of the car. The night was crystal clear. A nearby waterfall sang to the reverence of the holy evening. Closing the driver door, she made her way through the chill to the back seat, where she kept her suitcase. She grabbed a handful of her clean clothes, and made her way to the passenger side, as another contraction hit.

Two minutes later, Sophie, who had slumped onto the car, grabbed the fist full of clothes, which were still on the roof of the running Skylark. Then, she swung open the door. The blast of warm air from the car heater felt great. She hadn’t realized how cold it was outside. She had to get those pants off. With much kicking and shaking, one leg was kicked free, as her water broke.

When the screaming from the next contraction stopped, Sophie found herself in the back seat on her hands and knees, with her pants and panties wrapped around her left ankle. By the feel of it, the baby

was on its way. At least the door was closed, leaving her nice and warm in the running car. It wasn’t long before the windows fogged with her heavy breathing.

“My due date isn’t until January 6!” she hollered. “And, I have a doctor’s appointment on Tuesday! Oh, Howie! You’re having a baby! Merry Christmas!” she added with the next breath.

Sophie lost track of the time. She was going from one contraction to the next, just moments apart. Her entire world narrowed to little more than determination, the baby and her own pain.

Then the front passenger door opened. Standing there was a man that looked not quite her own age of twenty-four years. He had a kind face with strawberry blond hair falling to his shoulders. In a second, he evaluated what he saw, turned, said something to someone else, and closed the door, all of this just as another contraction crashed down on Sophie.

When it stopped, he was in her face. Through her tears and sobbing at the relief of not having to do this alone, she thought he said his name was “Mack” and he asked her how to drive the Skylark. There were hands on her head as she began to explain, and she was much too exhausted from the whole ordeal to fight them off. The front seat was scooted way up, allowing the blond samaritan to squeeze awkwardly into the receiving area. He set her clothes around, then placed his hand on the small of her back, telling her calmly and soothingly to ‘follow the rhythm of the birth.’

By the third time she heard that, she screamed, “Hey! I have no choice but to follow! Okay Mr. Beatnik!” But soon, Sophie noticed that the contractions were becoming easier, or at least, less painful. Through the dizziness and intensity, her focus did shift to her heartbeat and the urges of her abdominal

muscles. The blond man’s kind, soothing voice was focused on her. He made small suggestions.

“Relax.”

“Breathe deeper.”

“Your child is almost here.” His soft-spoken manner reminded her so much of her Howie.

With his helpful, calming words and touch, Sophie relaxed. In the next moment, she felt something very awkward invade her, then the birth happened.

“You have a new daughter!” Sophie awkwardly tried to turn, then felt her wailing baby placed against her arm. It was wrapped in her sweatshirt. She was easily the prettiest babe Sophie had ever seen, except for the ugly purple bruise around her neck.

“She is so beautiful! Oh, baby!” Sophie cried. In a minute, the baby, warm and snug, calmed. Through her tears, Sophie did not pay much mind to the faint blue glow coming from her samaritan, who was still at work in the receiving position.

Sophie, hugging the babe close, finally was able to slow her own breathing. Soon, her helper slipped out the backseat door, only to reappear in the driver’s seat. She collapsed onto her side and stretched out, the baby at her neck.

“We will be there soon.” the rescuer said as he cleared the foggy window with a wave of his hand.

Sophia was closely examining the little tiny miracle in front of her. The itty-bitty face, fingers, and

toes were soon wiped clean. She was perfect!

Another moment later, the Skylark lurched to a stop outside of the Lake Crescent Lodge. Every light was on in celebration of the holiday. After honking, her samaritan helped her out of the car while

holding her jacket around her.

Within four steps, Sophie realized just how very sore and uncomfortable she was.

“Please walk slowly. You have been very busy tonight. We will get help,” Mack said is if he’d read her mind. Most of her weight was on him.

“What will you name your child?” he asked as they approached the door.

“Marie. She will be Marie Sophia Porritt.”

He stopped, kissed his left thumb, placed it on the bridge of Marie’s little nose between the brows and said, “Baliss tiyatae kho vas nerry yushen esnew!”

“What is that?”

“It is a prayer. She will be insightful and know her blessings.”

As the Lodge door closed behind them, the wait staff of three swooped down on the newborn and the new mother.

X

Sophie had lost count of how many times she’d retold the story of Marie’s birth by the time her Howie arrived the next afternoon. But the one thing that came out the same at each telling was how grateful she was for the contribution of Mack, her good samaritan.