Apocalypse Training

I did some apocalypse training yesterday with the LA, and it went better than we could have imagined.  For starters, it was a gorgeous day, and we're at that part of the year where you can taste the end of the light, the sun being a giant glowing reminder of our mortality.  Nothing lasts. But it was that bright blue sky, and a cold crisp morning where you sort of wanted mittens but then after a few minutes could strip down to a tank top.  But that's just the setting.  If you're a lazy reader like me, you can skip this part.

We met early in the morning at the launching spot for our secret location, and I brought this map that I covet, because you can't get it without knowing someone.  Now that I have the map, I like to think that I am someone too.  Oh wait, it might be on the interwebs.  When I give it out, though, I don't give a gigantic lecture about how no one helps maintain the trails like I do.  No, I don't do that.  I just offer the map, and say 'enjoy'.  That almost makes me a better person than who I got the map from, except the fact of me noting it takes away any virtue, and the fact that I don't ever help her.  Kant wouldn't be proud.  Damn purists.

The spot.

I can't reveal where the spot is, because, well, for one thing, the LA would kill me.  I guess when dying is the "for one thing", you don't even need the next thing.  But here's a picture of it.  If you figure out where it is, you definitely have skills to offer our team, so that's okay.  

We'd never been there before.  After a few hours, we got pretty close, but right when we got near it, we heard a man's voice.  Right?  We're in the middle of nowhere.  But he turned out to be a fish biologist collecting DNA samples on the Chinook, and he seemed pretty amazed to see us there too.  We decided that even if he figured out where our spot was, it wouldn't be so terrible.  There's always room for a young handsome science-y fish biologist on our team, yes there is.   If he finds us during the apocalypse, I'm okay with that, especially if he wants to talk about DNA.  The rivers, and I can't name which ones, were swollen with fish in a way that neither of us had seen in a long time.  Definitely a good trait for an apocalypse spot:  protein all over the place.

Those dark shadows are Pink Salmon, Oncorhynchus gorbuscha

We got to where we planned to cross the river, to get to the actual spot.
"Hmm.  L.A., this looks pretty sketchy. We have to cross 60 feet on a slippery bent log over a river that's pretty much in flood stage, and on the other side the log gets skinny and lands on a steep slippery rock that we'll have to scale, and it's suspended over a deep raging pool."  [Sheesh, LA will kill me if you figure out the spot based on this description.]

"Betsy, when it's the real apocalypse, we won't have a choice.  We'll have to cross anyway."

"Or," I said, "we could just stay on this side, even in the apocalypse!"

L.A. looked amazed. "Wow!  I guess we could!"

So we found a sunny spot and had a picnic and even had a few little sips of the Holy Oregon grape-infused gin because it seemed like the perfect day and the perfect spot to test it for done-ness.  It's done, and pretty yummy if you like drinking sweetened pine needles, which it turns out I do.  We ate all the good things that no one eats anymore:  gluten, and cheese, and salami, gin.

"Betsy, one thing:  I don't want to spend the apocalypse doing math."

"Ok, fine.  Bring cards."

"I only have one deck of cards that I don't want to wreck, because my dad gave them to me when I was 14."

"It's that or math.  Your choice."

The to do list got longer.

63.  Photocopy playing cards, laminate.  Store originals in a safe spot.

We decided we can cross the river when the water is lower, and have summer apocalypse grounds.

"I think we'll need wetsuits to cross, though, because even in the summer its only about 40 degrees."

"Look, this is the apocalypse!  There won't be wetsuits.  And, you'll be carrying twice your body weight in salt; wetsuits will be too much trouble."

We passed the day in this fashion, gathering chanterelles, watching fish, laughing and planning.  On our way back, we saw the person who gave me the map, and after enduring the customary lecture (no one helps me take care of the trails!), we drove around and practiced our stealing skills by sneaking around on private property and gathering mushrooms.

"If someone confronts us, just say we're missionaries, and we've come to talk to them about The Word," I said.  "People leave you alone when you say that.

"Yeah, but we look like hippies, and we have giant bags overflowing with mushrooms. . ."

Luckily no one stopped us.

We ended the day by meeting Mr. L.A. for a beverage.

"Are you guys serious about this stuff?"

I think he got mildly alarmed when we told him he needed to build a bucket and pulley system out of salmonberry bushes to cross the river, and seriously concerned when LA revealed her plan of our children procreating with each other to carry the species on, in case we're the only Homo sapiens left.

"Of course we're serious!  We've been working on it all day. I can't tell you how many people want to be on my team!," the LA said.

"And I'm going to do permitting!  Post Apocalypse Permits, it will be called.  Because I'm pretty sure the government will be even more shut down than it is now, and it will be up to me.  Oh, and if the boy biologist joins us, we may also offer genetic testing."

"Why can't we just stay home during the apocalypse?  Why do we need to abandon our house and slog through the woods dragging 50 pounds of salt and then sleep outside?  I'm sleeping in my bed, apocalypse or no."

L.A. cozied up to him.  "We'll defend our property for a while, babe.  But when it gets bad, which it will eventually, we'll go to our spot.  Do you have a gun?  Just for rabbits and stuff.  And we'll need to figure out what to trade with the Tulalip tribe, because they'll make it too.  We were thinking snowberry tapioca?"

Anyway, that's the news.