Solitaire

July 2

I think that’s today’s date. I’m not entirely sure. Which is why I started this journal. I’m worried I’m going to lose track of how long I’ve been here, lose track of when I get to go back home. I’m mostly sure I’ve been here a week?

I’ll know in a couple of days if I have the date right. There’s a public camp site close enough that I’ll hear the illegal fireworks.

I also thought it might be good for posterity or something for me to keep track of my experience. A girl on her own in the wilds of Utah. Just me, a 40 gallon drum of the kind of alcohol that will eat holes in your brain, and a month’s supply of dehydrated and canned food. Sounds like a nonfiction, memoiry kind of thing, right? I can see it in my mind, on the shelves of Barnes and Noble next to Desert Solitaire.

So, why am I here? This is my job. I’ve been hired to sample the river every morning, then pick tiny little invertebrates and larval fish out of the muck in my nets.

If it sounds tedious, and maybe a little gross, it is.

I’m up at first light every day, dropping my net in the water before the sun even breaks the horizon. I thought these mornings standing in the river with the water rushing around my legs would be cold. But the reality is, the river never cools. This desert never cools. It’s broiling during the day, usually 110 or more. Dusk means the sun is no longer pouring over my skin, but I’m lucky if the temperature sinks to 90.

I never stop sweating.

So. The nets in the river every morning. Then back to my camp, just over the ridge from the officially recognized camp site, so that strangers aren’t tempted to swipe my stuff. I spend the morning picking through the river debris, dropping small creatures into vials that I top off with alcohol for preservation.

By noon, I’m done working. I’m free to spend my afternoons doing whatever I want. Which usually means I am sprawled in whatever shade I can find, drifting in and out of sleep.

There’s no wi-fi here. No where to go. I ran out of books the first week I was here. Now it’s just me. Me and my thoughts. Not a lot to report.

July 3

No fireworks yet. I did hear some drunken shouting from the other side of the ridge last night. More than usual, so I went for a stroll at sunset to see what the campsite looked like. It’s pretty full, so I think I’m right on the date. People are moving in for a fun 4th of July weekend of camping and drinking and hopefully not drowning in the river.

FYI, a sunset stroll sounds nice, and it’s super beautiful. But I will not be doing that again. Sunset is when the insects come alive.

It was a single mosquito at first. I smacked it when it was still gorging on my arm, leaving a smear of my blood nearly to my elbow.

That was the nice part.

The less nice part was the horseflies. We don’t have those back home. They don’t neatly insert a needle and withdraw your blood. These freaking beasts bite, ripping out tiny chunks of flesh with their nasty little mouths.

And they travel in swarms.

My evening stroll ended with me running for the safety of my tent with a visible mob of horseflies flowing behind me, darting in to tear pieces out of the tender flesh on the back of my knees. By the time I zipped the tent flap closed, blood was running down my calves.

Open wounds in the wilderness.

Fantastic.

July 4

I did clean the wounds with alcohol, FYI. I just had to build up the bravery to leave my tent to get to the giant drum. I’m pretty sure the bites aren’t going to get infected.

Stay tuned.

July 5

The complete and total lack of sleep I got last night confirmed the date. Today is indeed July 5.

Despite the rocking party and explosions that could probably be heard for a hundred miles until well after 2 am, I was still up with the sun this morning. Invertebrates and baby fish don’t follow calendars or take holidays.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but my mind was extra wandery this morning. I was thinking about the whole idea of introverts versus extroverts. I’ve often wondered if people were truly either one or the other, or if it was more of a gradient, a sliding scale. Some people claim to be both, at least in different situations.

I’m still not sure if it’s black and white, or shades of gray. What I do know for certain is that I am so firmly on the introvert side that the world will never budge me.

I’ve been here for eleven days with no human contact, but I felt absolutely no urge to cross the ridge last night and join in the party. I’m sure if I had, I would have been welcomed to the group, pulled into the celebration with no hesitation.

Instead I just wanted them all to go to sleep, or pass out, so that I could have some peace and quiet. This morning I realized that’s how I’ve been thinking this whole time. Really, I could go into the campsite whenever I wanted, meet people, share meals. But I don’t.

I won’t even go over to refill my water jugs at the pump if anyone is around. I wait until the middle of the week, the lull between rounds of weekend campers, to sneak over and fill my containers like I’m stealing the water.

It’s not just that over the ridge lie strangers. I sometimes think of people back home, but I don’t miss them. Not really. If we were in the same place and they asked, I’d go hang out. But I don’t feel it like a lack right now. There isn’t a whole in me that can only be filled by my friends. I am complete all on my own.

I guess what this all means is that I’m lucky. I’m the perfect person for this job.

July 6

I got a full night’s sleep! Yeah!

(well, as full as I ever can get when I’m slowly boiling…)

July 7

Nothing to report.

July 8

July 9

July 10

July 11

So much for me writing the next Desert Solitaire.

While I am perfectly comfortable here alone with my brain, we are not coming up with any amazingly deep new thoughts.

July 12

July 13

It’s my birthday. Today I am 22 years old.

Woot!

To celebrate, I taught myself how to use the fishing pole that was in my gear while my nets were soaking this morning. I used the Vienna sausages that had been in a baggie in the sun for three days as bait.

Catfish really like festering, smelly Vienna sausages.

Fresh fish for dinner!

July 14

I went fishing again today. I might do this every morning. Fresh fish is better than canned sausages.

Yes, I had to catch the fish, kill the fish, clean the fish, cook the fish. And, yes, it was the oiliest fish I have ever eaten. But it did not come from a can. It was not a clumpy powder I had to mix with water before slurping it down like gruel.

I have a new appreciation for real food.

July 15

July 16

Two catfish this morning! A feast!

July 17

There’s a lot of monotony in my days.

Drop the nets. Pull the nets. Pick the samples. Store the samples. Repeat.

Today was different. Today there was a surprise buried in the plant slop caught in my nets. Two surprises, really.

Two flashes of white in the dark muck, much too big to be the little fish and bugs I was after. I used my tweezers to free them, dunk them in the water bath next to my picking pan.

One was smaller than the other, a little marble-sized sphere-square. The second one, a bit bigger, more oblong, almost rectangular.

It took me longer than it should have to realize what I had found. I sat there in the shifting shade as the morning breeze blew already hot air through the trees above me, staring at the white objects. It had to be denial, I mean, I’m smart enough to recognize bones when they are sitting in front of me.

Once I got it together and figured out they were bones, I wasn’t sure from what. With no other option, and no clear reason to be concerned, I dropped the two small bones into a vial of alcohol to save for later.

I’m sure they’re from a coyote or an antelope or something.

July 18

I dreamt about the bones.

I was standing in the river, my nets catching debris, like always. Something brushed against my calf in the water. A moment later, more of a poke. Dream me looked down. A stream of white flowed around me, caught in the current. I was standing in a river of bones.

Then a clear clutch of fingers around my calf.

I screamed and woke in my dark, roasting tent.

I won’t lie. Getting in the water this morning was an act of bravery. I waited for fingers to wrap around my ankle and yank me under. I kept watch on the water, looking for drifting white bones. Or a face framed in tangled dark hair, a mouth of sharp teeth aiming to take a bite.

Nothing grabbed me. Nothing other than the usual debris and catfish drifted past. Nothing unusual turned up in my nets.

July 19

No nightmares. No bones.

July 20

Well.

There were bones again this morning. Only one. This one is bigger. Big enough that I’m a bit surprised it was able to move down the river and into my net. This one is clearly a jaw. I’m not a bone expert, but there are definitely teeth attached. Teeth that look very much like the teeth in my own jaw.

I think it’s human.

Which would suggest the other bones are human.

Which would suggest there is the body of a human somewhere upstream from where I plant my nets every morning.

I’m not as alone as I thought.

July 21

I didn’t sleep. I just kept thinking about that jaw, those two other bones, the body that must be lying in the same water I stand in every morning. No sleep means I’ve been exhausted all day, a walking zombie. But no sleep also means no nightmares. I didn’t wake screaming to the clutch of a cold hand.

I got to imagine it while I was awake instead. I planted my nets in the river just like always. But I didn’t say in the water to monitor them. I sat on the bank, my knees pulled to my chest, shivering in the already hot early morning light.

Back at camp, I sifted through my samples. No bones. Even though they weren’t in my samples, they were all I saw. Bits and shards of white flaking away from the remains of a person, drifting down the river into my nets.

I know I won’t sleep tonight. I probably won’t sleep for the remainder of this assignment. It’s only a few days, but I’m not going to make it.

I have to know what’s there.

I have my day pack next to me. Two bottles of water, a handful of protein bars, dried fruit, useless bug spray.

I’m going to leave this journal in my tent. Either I’ll be back later today to write about what I found, or my boss will find a clue as to why I’m not where he expects to find me.