The Turn on the Trail

Gregory E. Lucas

Sometimes our final acts are, much as we try, unknowable and indecipherable by others.

Day 31, Lost Day 26, July 5
"I die with... [unreadable] ...any regrets."
--From the journal of a lost hiker

Jane Alton

Dammit, no! Brian's death wasn't a suicide. For two years now, ever since those hunters found 'im face down in that stream in Vermont's Green Mountains, I've heard rumors 'bout my brother's death. I'd say ta myself, "Tell 'em what ya know--how he tried ta survive." But I couldn't bring it up. So I did the best I could ta forget what people said. But now I'll let the dead man speak through his journal.

I burnt his tent when they brought it ta me. I threw out the sleepin' bag he starved in. And after I took the notebook outa his backpack, I put the pack in the attic and haven't gone up there since. I was able, a bit at a time, ta face the words he'd written in his last days. Just a page here and there, in no order the first few times I took it out'a my night table drawer. But on a rainy night while my husband slept, I began readin' from page one and kept goin' straight through.

Wayne Langly

She comes over here, Jane does, with that stuff my son wrote. "No, I won't read none of id," I tell her. "No sense bringin' up the past. Leave what's past 'lone. Got more'n I can handle with your mother on 'er deathbed. That brain cancer's eatin' her mind," I says, but does she listen? "Won't read none of it?" she says. And I say, "No, no, take id. Take id with you." But she let id set here on this scratched up table when she left.

Ned Griegs

Brian. My best friend. We worked together a few years at the post office in Company, Vermont. Both of us clerks, sorting mail all day long in that little room. No matter what time a year--was hot in there. No air. Brian had been there eight years. He was thirty-eight when he died. Eight years younger than I am now. Brian was young at heart, even if he looked older than he really was. String Bean, we'd call him at work. He wasn't more than 160 pounds, and a little over six feet tall. His arms and legs were so long and thin that he looked kinda awkward. He always walked a little stooped over, maybe on account'a being bent over those letters so much of the time. He had dark brown eyes, the color of his hair--his hair was medium long usually--and the skin of his face was a little wrinkled.

"Explore the Grand Canyon--yessirree! That's what I'm gonna do some day," he'd say. Jungles. Deserts. Mountains. Sea voyages. Brian never stopped talking about adventures. He'd wipe sweat of his face and talk about the breezes on tropical islands he'd go to someday. The only thing keeping him back, he said, was his job.

"Life's passing me by," he said more than once. "And here I am, another day sorting mail."

He was a man with a family, though, and since the office didn't give him much paid time off, he felt like he would be doing his family wrong by not making every penny he could. But then after all that awful stuff happened with Annette and the kids, he took ten days vacation--decided to hike 135 miles by himself along the Appalachian Trail.

Jane Alton

We grew up in a mobile home. I hated when people called it a trailer or said we lived in a trailer park! There is a difference. Our father was a house painter. Near 70 now. Still paints homes, but not all day long like he used ta. Says he's gotta work some still cause he's gotta pay off a small mortgage on this little house he bought not long ago--it's a real house, not a mobile--and besides, he says, "I like workin'." Cold and silent, that man. Tough speakin' ta 'im. Brian tried. Tried ta talk with 'im, joke with 'im, or just tell 'im 'bout school, 'bout ball games. Only thing that ever did was annoy the man, though. They didn't fight, Brian and Dad, they just didn't talk or do much together. Uncle Brian. That's who my brother played catch with, went fishing with, watched ball games with. Uncle Brian was our mother's brother and my brother was named after 'im. They were close. Always.

Wayne Langly

"If'd make any diff'rence I'd read it, but it don't," I says to Jane when she comes over one night to take care her mother so I can sleep some 'fore having to get up early and paint 'nother house. She's mad at me for not readin' it, says I didn't ever wanna really know who my son was. Believe that? I walk away. Turn off all the lights. Get into bed. At last I get a little peace while she's in there with her mom. I took good care'a that woman. She never had to work none 'cept for a little while when the kids was both in their teens and growin' so fast that there wasn't clothes that fit for more'n a month it seemed, and they eat all that food up so fast. Cashier at the drug store. Only for a few months.

Not wanna know who my own son was? What the hell's she sayin'? That son a'mine was lots like me. Jane takes after her mom with her red hair and copies the way her mom smiled 'fore she got sick, but Brian'd always took after me. I'm not talkin' looks so much, but ways. Depression. I admit I got that problem. Get so low sometimes wish I was never born. And id sticks. I seen Brian even lower than me but he had a way of changin', real fast. Brian was always way up or way down. Never much 'tween. Me, I don't get the up part. That's why I keep quiet. That boy a'mine, he'd be way up in love one night and down in the dumps soon as he'd broken up with her. Next day he'd be back up in the sky. In love, again. Never could believe how up and down he'd be over girls, women. That's how come I know it was a suicide. That divorce. Made final and official just a week 'fore he set off. Married seven years to Annette and then not no more. Id depressed him. Took the kids with her too. That's why he went in them woods and never come back. He planned id that way.

Jane Alton

The evenin' 'fore he started out I was over there, at his house, in his livin' room, talkin' ta 'im. He was busy gettin' his stuff ready--tent, ponchos, socks, mosquito net for his face, matches, clothes. I don't know what all else it was, but it was lots. Couldn't believe that he could carry all that. Even had a Coleman lantern and fuel. He said it wasn't the usual thing ta bring 'long, that lantern, for someone who wanted ta travel light, but he said that he wanted it and it'd be worth the weight. "And what's that you're makin'?" I asked 'im when we were both in the kitchen. And he said, "My special survival food." Peanut butter, chocolate, nuts, and Oat Bran mixed together. He scooped and pressed it with a spoon inta some empty plastic margarine containers and stuffed 'em inta his backpack.

Ned Griegs

Jane called me from his place the evening before he set out. She said that he was all set, had everything packed and ready to go. Only thing left he had to do was drive up north to the Daskin Lake Campsite to store a food supply in a cache. She asked if I'd like to go along with the two of them. I went.

We parked at a trailhead and hiked a short way through the woods to the campsite. It was close to sunset then. He slung his food supply up between trees close to a lean-to so that the black bears couldn't get to it and then we walked back to the car and drove off. It was dark by then. On the way there and on the way home, he didn't say anything about Annette. He joked, sang along with the Bob Dylan tapes we played, and said that he could hardly wait to hit the trail the next day. Maybe there was a minute when he looked lost in thought, a little sad, but it was nothing much. There's no way I'd say he was depressed, like some people say he was.

Annette

Another sleepless night. Try another pillow. He's gone into those woods and is never coming back. Quiet, Annette. Get some sleep. Sleep.

...be alive today if it wasn't for you, all your idea, the divorce, seeing him the first time that night at the diner, Brian bussing the tables, me with the AA crowd, then they all leave except me, the last one, and he's there... movies and kisses and poetry, reading poetry by the silent TV like it was a fireplace, me to him, him to me... putting the kids to sleep together... his rough beard in our love making, but me and my booze... that's what did it... seven years together, happy, until I... it was just a slip, Brian, don't worry.

But why? Stop asking why, I don't know why, Brian...sober here, a drunk night there, oh come on Brian, let me have a little fun... not sure if I love you anymore Brian not as much as I love to drink, anyway... leaving you Brian, shocked, that look on his face...where were you last night? Shouting, it was just a one-night stand with a man at the bar, stop prying, forget it... Forget it? How, Annette? Not that argument again... Smashing all the booze bottles in the sink... Brian, I'll take the kids...take the kids? You work, yes, but if there's no way to pay for day care...

Hated that about him, about us, no money, blue-collar bullshit, me a college educated woman stuck in that shabby two bedroom house, those crude folks his friends that I pretended to like, dirty stinking diapers, and is this all there is to my life? Taking care of kids and cooking meals and cleaning a home I can't stand to live in? And it's back to my mother who doesn't stop prying, and then another man and another drink and then another man, the barfly you called him, Brian, and you wanted to know what I saw in him and why I just didn't stop and I couldn't tell you because I didn't know, and now if I could just sleep tonight, sleep and forget about you...

But I told him to get on with his life, you've got to forget about me, Brian... But she'll sober up--how could he think that? hope for that?--and come back with the kids... because he never stopped loving you, even after... well, at least he saw his kids almost every day after work, never denied him that, so you could go out and party with your new boyfriend... poor me poor me pour me a drink... down down down the trail into the shadows of the trees, they found him in a stream, crawling toward the voices he said he heard, it wasn't a suicide, yes it was, but what about what Jane showed you?... unreadable half of it so who will ever really know, you don't need to see all the words, yes you do to be sure, he was depressed when he left, kept pleading for me to come to my senses the last time I saw him, but later, on the phone, said he forgave me everything and wished me the best, sadness in his voice, such sadness....

Jane Alton

About three in the afternoon on June 5, 1990 I dropped Brian off at a trailhead in Betterton. That's in Central Vermont. All day he'd been anxious ta get goin'. But I got a job at the bank. I'm a teller. I look at money all day long that I wish I had more of cause I don't have much of it. I couldn't get off more than a few hours early ta take 'im. He asked for a kiss on the cheek after he was out'a the car ready ta set off. That surprised me. We didn't do that too often--close as we were--and I asked 'im why and he said that a sister's kiss brings good luck. So I kissed 'im lightly on his cheek, then watched 'im set off inta the forest while I sat behind the wheel. Driving off I said ta myself I should've given 'im my rabbit foot. I meant ta bring it 'long with me, but I forgot. I know it sounds silly, but sometimes I think that if I'da gave 'im it, he would've had the luck he needed ta find his way out'a those woods.

Brian Langly

Day 1--June 5:

Late start--3:00. Hiked fast pace. 8.3 miles to Glittering Lake. Saw no one else on trail. Signed trail register a while ago. Set up my tent by lake. Was a beautiful day. Lots of sunshine filtering through the trees and a nice cool breeze. Perfect hiking weather. Nice half moon tonight. Been sitting here listening to the loons. Eerie echoing sound they make, their song a strange beauty. Think there's more than two, maybe four. Haven't seen them yet. Just keep hearing them. Nice sparkle of moon on water, a bright trail of flickering silver. Know now how this lake got its name. Most silvery sheen I've ever seen on water. Still a nice breeze. Tiny ripples on the lake. Must turn in soon, tired, but will stay awake a few more minutes hoping to see loons. Peaceful. Feel God's presence everywhere in this stillness and solitude.

Jane Alton

God yes, but religion no. My brother didn't go ta church since he left our parents' house. He once said what his sorta belief in God was called. It wasn't a word I can remember exactly--Pan something. Pantheist? I think that's it. Said I should read Emerson's essay on Nature sometime and then I'd understand. I've read it since Brian died, but I didn't understand it. Brian didn't think'a God as a bearded man in the sky. He thought God was everywhere and that he could sense God when he was alone in the woods, by lakes, on mountaintops. He also said that God was in people, only it was harder ta feel God in others than it was in nature. I don't say I agree with all this. It never made sense ta me why if God was everywhere or in people why there were so many bad places and bad people. I go ta a Protestant church. I go ta just get outta the house once in a while. Really I don't hardly even think about God or pray unless I'm in trouble. Then I think about God a lot and pray hard. I prayed and prayed once I knew Brian was missing.

Brian Langly

Day 2--June 6:

Up at first light. Granola bars and fig bars for breakfast. Hit trail at sunrise. Hiked 10 miles to lean-to on Little Scar River. Stopped off for scrub down at Muck's Pond. Not mucky like name implies. Crystal clean water. No towel to dry off. Used extra shirt and fresh air. That's camping life. Also passed beaver hut in small pond. Saw two beavers swimming in pond. Late morning now. Looks like rain soon. Very cloudy. Sore feet bothering me a bit. Boots new. Should have broken them in more before... [unreadable] ...such a long... [unreadable] ...Plan to soak feet in river and stay put for rest of day.

Annette

I never expected to hear from him while he was on the hike. But I got a postcard from him. It was postmarked Fisherville, June 7. That would have been day three of his hike. It didn't say much--just a few words. "Sore feet but no sore feelings. Say hi to the kids for me. Sincerely, Brian." Fisherville. That's on Spencer Road. The trail he was on crossed it. I must've still been on his mind, or else he wouldn't have sent that card. To me it shows he was missing the kids. He says he had no sore feelings, but I don't believe him. That man! He just wouldn't let go of me and move on with his life. I don't remember if I told the kids that their Daddy wrote or if I showed 'em the picture on the card. I think I just got drunk and lost it, threw it out, or something.

Jane Alton

And there's the postcard he sent us too. Real nice picture of a waterfall on it. It was addressed ta me and Steve. Steve, he's my husband. "Havin' a good time," he said, "and tell everyone--Mom, Dad, Uncle Brian, Ned--Hi." Seemed happy ta me still, just like when I dropped 'im off a few days before he sent it. Annette never did understand Brian as well as I did. She told me 'bout the post card he sent. If he said he had no sore feelings, that's what he meant. She could always turn his words around to exactly the opposite of what he said. That was part of the trouble he had with her. Never did blame Brian for gettin' mad at her 'bout stuff like that.

Ned Griegs

Forgiveness. That's what that postcard to Annette was all about. To me it showed that he had already forgiven her. He was doing just what Annette said he would never do. He'd put their troubled past behind himself and was moving on with his life. Brian didn't want to find another woman to make him forget Annette. He didn't want to forget any of his life, because he valued all of it, even the rough parts. Rather than forget, or try to even the score with anyone, he would forgive. Annette's way was always to forget--to get drunk and forget, to find another lover quickly to forget the last one. But that wasn't Brian's way. It might've taken him a long time when it came to some people who troubled him, but that's what he eventually did, forgive.

Wayne Langly

Jane says that she was over here with a postcard from Brian the same day she got it, and I seen it and read it, she says. But I still say she never showed me no postcard.

Brian Langly

Day 4, June 8:

Deep into the wilderness now. Stopped at Birch Lake and rested a while. Had to. Just no energy today. Frequent stops a must. Had to go at slow pace. Stopped a little while at each of the Tucker Lakes. Each one close together. Very remote lakes. A little muggy today. Lots of bugs. Good thing I have the face net. Keeping track of mileage according to guidebook. Covered 40 miles. Not so bad a pace even though I did have to slow down today. Too much pack weight I think. Maybe should not... [unreadable] ...lantern and fuel. Too bulky. Met another hiker today... [unreadable] ...Lake... [unreadable] ...said... [unreadable] ...

Edward Winter

That's him! Shocked me, man. I was just reading the newspaper after getting odf work at the steel mill--the razor and saber mill we sometimes call it--and there it was, the face. I knew it was him the sec I saw the picture--the face of the sick looking guy I'd seen when I was fishing at Lost Lake. The paper said he'd been missing and to call this number if anyone had any info on his whereabouts. So I called right away.

"Yes," I told the ranger, "it was definitely him." And "no," I told him, "he didn't say he was lost or that he needed help."

"And was there anything unusual about him?" the ranger asked.

"There sure was," I told him.

"What was that?" he asked, and I told him how his tent poles were sticking out all over the place from his pack and that the guy looked pale and weak, like he was real sick. I told the ranger--I wanted him to know this- that I asked the guy if he needed help and that the guy said he was doing okay, just a little tired. So I didn't do nothing to help him, but I sure would've if the man had asked for help because that's the way I am. I mean, I always help people out if they need help. I'm not the kind of guy who's afraid to get involved. Why should I be afraid to help a man out in the wilderness, even if he did seem strange with his tent poles all over the place and looking like a ghost? I'm a big man, six-four, and I work out all the time lifting weights. I could've even carried the man out if he had wanted me to, but he didn't look like he was really that bad, that weak.

"It was by the Lost Lake Dam that I saw him. The dam." I gave the ranger the exact location. I still can't believe it man--I was the last one to see him alive!

Brian Langly

Day 5, June 9:

Started raining during night. Rain would not let up. Didn't bring enough food. Not eating enough and am very weak. Never make my food cache. Too far away, so had to take short cut. Left original trail. Now at Lean-to on bank of Clear Brook. Pouring. Plan is to hike 7 miles along this trail offshoot (Teasing Brook Trail) to Detter Lake Campsite. Looks like there's a road by there. Will hitchhike (or hike if must) to town of Duster. Can renew food supply there or most... [unreadable] ...Can't get over how weak I suddenly felt yesterday. Guess I'm aging faster than I realized.

Jane Alton

It's my belief that he wanted ta call off the rest of the hike, just get ta that town anyway he could and call me, tell me ta come get 'im.

Wayne Langly

Sudden sickness he says he had. Id weren't just that. He was a broken man. Maybe he was havin' second thoughts 'bout going through wid the suicide. Maybe that's why he started off toward that campsite. But he changed his mind back, I say. He's like me. A man that gets so down that he just don't know where to head.

Ranger Fisk

Facts. I stick to those and here's a few: Number one: He signed the register at Glittering Lake and specified a segment of the Appalachian Trail. Someone gets lost, that's where we look, along and near the specified trail route. The farther a hiker wanders from that, the more difficult it is to locate him. No one--I repeat, no one!--could have guessed that he'd decided to take an offshoot of the main trail, a short cut 40 miles into his hike. Fact number...

Brian Langly

Day 6, Lost Day 1, June 10:

Lost trail. How? Can't believe this. Have tent set up. Ripped red shirt into 4 pieces. Hung red rags on trees. Hoping someone will see and follow them to tent. Still pouring. Never stops. Been praying. Pray and pray. Must stay calm. Sure someone will look for me if not back soon after scheduled time of return. Hope so. Maybe if rain stops can find my way out. So hard to see through pouring rain. Was raining hard early this morning when I left lean-to on bank of brook. Hiked three-and-a-half, maybe four miles. Wettest trail I ever imagined. Follows brook, just like map shows. Didn't expect to have to ford brook so many times though. Boots sopped. Everything sopped. Am weaker by the hour. Am looking at map now. Still can't understand why... [unreadable] ...try... [unreadable] ...clean.

Ranger Fisk

...two. Look at the map and you'll see what confused him. Teasing Brook Trail does not follow Teasing Brook for the first 3.1 miles. It follows Clear Brook. Then the trail veers away from the brook and...

Jane Alton

Sonofabitches! What the hell were they thinkin' when they made that map? If they'd a called the trail what they ought'a called it, he might'a made it out. Might'a figured the way.

Ranger Fisk

...follows a steep ridge. There aren't many markers there and the ones there, granted, are hard to see, but...

Jane Alton

And how could they not have more markers? Tell me that! The trail should've been clearly marked.

Ranger Fisk

...a more experienced hiker would not have been puzzled. The map clearly shows that Clear Brook eventually runs into Teasing Brook and that the Teasing Brook Trail runs almost parallel to it. But first you must ascend the ridge about twelve hundred feet.

Jane Alton

It had nothing ta do with experience, like that ranger tried ta say. Anyone could've gotten lost the way things were.

Ranger Fisk

Fact three: The fatal error he made was instead of veering off the brook and following the trail up the steep ridge, he followed the brook down into the Teasing Brook drainage area.

Ned Griegs

It all added up. He was feverish. He was hungry and weak. The downpour made it hard to see markers that were hard enough to see in good weather. The map was confusing. He was alone and must've been scared. And all that hiking tired him. No wonder he was lost.

Brian Langly:

Day 7, Lost day 2, June 11:

What to do? Won't stop raining. Sleeping bag wet. Tent leaking. Ate last of my peanut butter survival food. No more food at all left. Lantern no help in getting fire started because all wood is so wet. Cold all the time. Know I have high fever. So weak. Stay here for another day and rest hoping I get over illness and recover strength before searching as long as it takes to find trail? But without food, will strength return? Resolve to stay put until rescue comes? Head farther down this small brook, even though no trail is there? Just plunge into deep forest and keep going in wild hopes of running into trail, people, or road? If only rain would stop.

Ranger Fisk

There are little brooks branching from the main stream. An experienced hiker with a clear mind might have followed the tiny brook he was near until it took him to the main stream, then followed it. The map he had shows the main stream eventually leading to Hunning Road. But he was neither experienced nor able to think clearly anymore.

Annette

More than anything else in this world, Brian wished he could have been a poet. He wrote some, but only for himself. His love poems to me, they were touching, but more for the intention than for the poems themselves. He knew that he hadn't the gift for writing poems, so he didn't write much. When he did--except during our courtship--it was strictly for himself. He didn't keep them. He didn't even let me read many of them--not that I really wanted to either. I had enough of that sort of thing from him. Sure, I found some of it romantic, reading poetry in front of the TV with the picture on and the sound off, like it was a fireplace, but it got old after a while, especially when I started drinking again.

Jane Alton

"Answer me that then, Dad!" I said. "Would he'a eaten insects if he wanted ta die? No sir! That's a man doing anything and all he can ta stay alive!"

Wayne Langly

She shoves that journal'a his right in my face she does and she says, "Read it." I do and she's shoutin' about him eatin' insects while I read about it.

So then I say to Jane, I say, "I don't want'a know nothin' 'bout my son eatin' insects."

But she keeps asking me, "Does that sound like a man who wants to die?" and I say to her, "I don't know. I don't know, I don't know, so okay, maybe he was tryin' to live and maybe you're right. But it don't make no diff'rence to me."

Brian Langly

Day...[unreadable]

...more afraid to eat plants than bugs. Can't tell which plants are poisonous. Always been a phobia of mine--poisonous plants--but have eaten some clover... [unreadable] ...flap open and bugs fly in. Close flap and eat them. Eating black flies and snails and beetles.

Ned Griegs

One of my favorite memories of him...It's a fall day. A Saturday or a Sunday. Brian and I are out on a pond paddling a canoe. I can't even remember which pond, Teardrop or Drucker, one of those I think. He stops paddling. I keep watching him, waiting for him to dip the paddle and pull again so that we can move on. I say, "Brian." But he doesn't seem to hear me. He just keeps looking off to the side while we drift. And I see his face glowing. He's looking at the sunset. The sunlight's the same mix of red and gold as the treetops. All but the very top of the sun has gone down behind 'em. It's not just the sunlight giving his face such a glow. It's joy--a special kinda joy, a feeling that you could only know about if you were real peaceful, it seems. He keeps watching the reflection of the leaves in the pond. And he also watches the trail of sunlight that reaches out from the land to our canoe. God, the colors--the sparkles on the water! It's like they got a grip on him, me too by then. Then he dips his oar into the water, into that stillness. It makes a little splash but the sound is so quiet that it seems to be a part of the peacefulness. When we paddle back to the tent, the peacefulness stays with us. It's like Brian, since he's part of that memory, has never completely left me.

Ranger Fisk

His makeshift camp was about a mile off the trail that would have been his shortcut.

Jane Alton

He sure did love his garden. Had a butterfly garden in his backyard. All sorts'a pretty flowers in it that were special cause they were supposed to help attract butterflies. Evenings, he'd sit out there, a book of poetry in his hand. He'd gaze up between poems--he used ta tell me he liked doing this, though I never saw for myself, he was 'lone while doin' this a'course--and watch the butterflies.

Once, just after it had got dark, I went over ta his place--we were only 'bout two miles away from each other, his house and my mobile home--and I went all through the house lookin' for him. Knew he was expectin' me. "Out here," he said, and when I stepped out onto the back patio I saw 'im stooped down low, his nose ta a flower. That's the way he was--someone who took the time ta smell the flowers, someone who wasn't always in such a hurry that they missed out on the small good things in life. It's somethin' that I learned how ta do from him. But since it don't come natural ta me, like it did ta him, I'm not so good at it as he was. I've got a little garden of my own now. And just the other day, when I was feeling low on account a my marriage--me and Steve, we've got our problems these days, him takin' up with somebody else, a younger woman than me, but that's for another time--I went out ta my garden and looked at the flowers still in bloom. I just sat there a while and enjoyed them, the way he would'a.

Brian Langly

Day 11, Lost Day 6, June 15:

Stopped raining during night. Got a little fire going now, late afternoon. Know Jane and others must have been concerned when I was not at destination yesterday. Hoping that rangers are looking for me now.

Jane Alton

"Just where the hell is he, Ned?" I kept asking him. Thank God Ned came along. I couldn't a stood the worry all alone. "This is where he said for us ta meat him, right?" I asked. Ned kept saying that we were at the right spot, just what he'd written down. "Maybe it just took him a little longer than he thought it would," Ned said. Then it got dark and he still wasn't back. Then Ned looked worried too. "I'll stay here and you go call," Ned said. And that's what we did. He waited and I called the police. The police called the ranger's office.

Brian Langly

Day 20, Lost Day 15, June 24:

So weak. Can only live off these insects and clover for short while longer. Am desperate. Can't believe that no one's found me yet. Where the hell is anyone! Going to die here unless I can follow that little brook to the bigger stream and that stream leads me to someone. Tried to make it. Pathetic though. Totally exhausted after 30 feet from tent to brook. Rested at start of brook, crawled as far as I could then. Not very far. Too weak. Took all my strength to get back to tent. Do not want to give up hope, but believe if not found here will die here.

Ranger Fisk

No matter how many volunteers we had--and we had many, more by the day--135 trail miles is difficult, if not impossible to search. That's dense forest. No one can be seen from a plane unless perhaps they make themselves visible on a wide stream or in a clearing. We searched with more and more men and dogs from the morning after we were notified. We looked along the trail that he specified in the trail guide, and nearby. That's standard procedure. I followed standard procedure. Let's be clear on that. Meanwhile, the family and friends of the lost hiker did their part by circulating photographs. I made sure that newspapers in the area along his route had his picture and that the information for contacting my office was clearly stated and correct. Days passed without a clue of where he was. Then we got that call. A fisherman at Lost Lake had seen him.

Brian Langly

D... [unreadable]

...plane with pontoons overhead every day. Set lit lantern on brook bank every night. Will let it burn every night until out of fuel. Have made last escape attempt. Must rest, stay still, preserve strength as best I can.

Ranger Fisk

Immediately after that call, we concentrated almost all our search efforts in the area where he had been last seen. We combed the perimeter of Lost Lake and a big area on either side of the trail. Every day we flew more volunteers in to search the Lost Lake area. We never saw his lantern because we only flew during the day. His lantern was only lit at night.

Jane Alton

Every night I slept at the search headquar ters. Think I'd let 'em quit looking for my brother? I'd do whatever I had ta ta make 'em keep lookin'. After two weeks I had ta plead. The ranger said he was sorry, but that it was time ta call off the search. I cried and cried. And I just wouldn't leave.

Brian Langly

Day 25, Lost Day 20, June 29:

Am so sorry I missed your birthday Uncle Brian. Love you Uncle Brian. Love all of them, Mom, Dad, Ned, Jane, the children... [unreadable] ...see my children again... [unreadable] ...before bedtime every night and am so glad that I took time to... [unreadable] ...every day. No regrets either about Annette. Would marry her all over again if I had the chance. Always knew that my father loved me, even if we had our troubles. A good man. Even if we did not do so much together, am all the more grateful for the few special times we did share. And Mom was so wonderful. Sure do miss Mom's meals now. Can smell her pies in the oven and wish... [unreadable] ...too... [unreadable] ...so dizzy.

Ranger Fisk

After an exhausting search of the area around Lost Lake we fanned out another few miles. The sister pleaded hard for me to continue the search and I told her we'd search until the first of July.

Brian Langly

Day 29, Lost Day 24, July 3:

Whatever happened to that plane? But was it ever involved with search for me? Was never sure of this. Can only crawl and not far before I collapse. Am helpless. Lantern no longer burns. Nice day. Sunny. Will listen for 4th of July fireworks and try to crawl toward sound tomorrow night.

Annette

What was I supposed to tell the kids? You tell me. I didn't know what to say. "He's on a vacation. He just decided to go away for a long time, but he's coming back." Was it wrong to say that? I mean, how do you tell your kids that their father is missing and that no one can find him? How do you tell them that he's probably dead but nobody can be sure?

Brian Langly

Day 31, Lost Day 26, July 5:

Heard fireworks last night. Saw lights in sky. Know where to head now but am so weak is ridiculous. Could not walk and crawl more than very short distance. No way could make it out. Wrote help on tent with ashes and dirt. Am imagining death. What it will be like. Trying to accept it. Was counting on many more years. Remembering life. This struggle with survival has taught me greater appreciation of my brief life. Every minute of what I had seems to mean so much more to me now. Hope others, if they find this journal, will... [unreadable] ...If I die here, I die with... [unreadable] ...any regrets.

Jane Alton

What some people say that line a his journal says is "I die with many regrets." Those are the ones who think that his death was a suicide, the ones who never wanted ta hear how he ate anything he could, how he tried with the last bit a his strength ta make it out. I believe what he wrote there, if we could see all the letters that had been smudged by the dampness, is "I die without any regrets." It's a world a diff'rence. Some say that line shows just how unhappy he was. That he was troubled enough ta take his own life. They're wrong! He had come to terms with his life. He had learned ta value life more than most a the rest a us. He was sayin' that life was so precious ta him that he couldn't regret any of it.

Wayne Langly

I don't say I ever read all that stuff in that journal, but Jane, she has me read that line and asks me what I think. I tell her, "No one dies without at least some regrets." So it can't mean what she says id means. Still I don't turn them words against him, way maybe some people would, the people who just talk and never look at nothin' he wrote. I admit, I was almost one of them types myself, but I did read most of that journal after all. Id don't mean that he committed suicide if he died with some regrets or even many regrets. No, Brian, ya can tell, he tried hard as he could to stay alive. Wasn't suicide, but how much diff'rence that makes, I'm not so sure.

Brian Langly

Day 32, Lost Day 27, July 6:

My last page of notebook. Am so groggy. Why didn't anyone find me? Amazed to still be alive. Should have lived like I was amazed to be alive before all this. What my life might have been like then? Hard to say. Unable to stomach insects anymore, just a few snails and a little clover. Water never was a problem. Have full canteen now, but will I be able to even get that far to fill it if I'm still alive a few days from now? Silly concern. Doubt if I will be alive much longer. Will use inside cover of guidebook to write Will and say good-byes.

Jane Alton

"What diff'rence does it make?" my father asks. "If his death was a suicide," I told 'im, "it'd be like he was sayin' it's okay ta give up." And if people think his death was a suicide they don't remember Brian for the person he was. Some times when I feel down, I think a Brian in the woods, tryin' all he could ta keep livin'. And all right, maybe no one can die without regrets. But what comes to mind when I think about his journal is that we can all try ta live so that we die with as few regrets as possible. I think that if I try ta live so that I end up with as few regrets as I can, that somehow the few that I'll be left with will be easier ta accept, knowin' that I did the best I could. But what happened ta my brother out there in them dark deep woods wasn't only 'bout tryin' ta live. It was also 'bout acceptin' death. Once he saw that death was just around the corner, it seemed that he was able ta accept it, and the reason I think he could was because he had accepted his life for what it had been. I believe that somehow made it easier for him ta die. So it does it make a diff'rence how he died. And now ya know why I had ta bring up the past, why I had ta fight the rumors.

Ranger Fisk

Some facts are not clear. He either was alive long after we stopped searching for him or the last dates in his journal entry are incorrect. It is especially hard to believe the date of his last journal entry, which was written on the back inside cover of his guidebook.

Brian Langly

Day... [unreadable] ...maybe August 3:

If you find this follow brook and go downstream. Think... [unreadable] ...voices. Am going to keep crawling as far as can that way.

Sam Moore

I didn't believe my eyes at first--a dead man, face down in the stream. I'd never seen a dead man before. Never! I'm 25 years old and that was the first time. I couldn't say nothing at first. I just stared. It was the end of October and there was lots of leaves blowing. We was out hunting, me and my pop. Leaves clung to one side of his face. It was really just part of a face because so much of the skin had rotted away. Flies and other little bugs buzzed around his hair. He had on dirty jeans and a dirty blue coat. He was in a shallow part of the stream. His face was down in the froth and one arm was stretched out in front, like he was reaching for something or trying to pull himself along. The other arm was twisted back, dangling in the current. I was just hunting with my pop, ya know. I was shocked and shouted loud for Pop to come.

Rick Moore

What's wrong? I wondered, as soon as I heard him shouting. Couldn't be that he had shot game because I never heard a shot. Then I come and I see. "Go back to the truck. Head for the nearest phone and call the police," I told him. "I'll stay here." He did just what I said and I waited until the police came.

Annette

I waited until his body was found and I was sure he was dead. Then I told the kids. I didn't know how else to tell them. I just said it straight out to them one night while I was putting them to bed. They cried like a storm, but I believe that the waiting and worry about where he might be, the not knowing, was worse for them than the certainty of their father's death. I held them. We all slept together in my big bed that night. "Can Daddy see us and hear us from heaven?" they asked. "Yes," I told them. "Yes, he can." Even if I don't believe that--I'm never sure of what I believe, the hereafter being so mysterious to me--it makes the children feel better, helps all of us who knew him to think that's so anyway.

Ranger Fisk

Due to the body's decomposition, the autopsy shed no light on his death.

Jane Alton

Ned said ta me the other day that he's got a new friend who's a reporter, someone he knows through the trails club that he belongs ta, the one that me and Brian also belonged ta. "Why don't you let me show him this journal of Brian's?" Ned said. "Maybe he'd write an article about it. Just think how many people Brian's experience could reach that way," he said. And now that I've thought about, it sounds like a good idea. I just might ask Ned ta bring 'im ta me sometime soon.

Ned Griegs

Not so long ago I was paddling a canoe on a small lake. It was a beautiful fall day--the wind was cold and the leaves as colorful as they get. No one was with me. I was fishing. I hadn't caught much but I liked it out there, so I stayed out. About sunset I got all my fishing gear together and began paddling into shore. A minute later I stopped paddling and set the oar down in the bottom of the boat. I drifted and looked at the ripples on the water. They were red and bright 'cause of reflecting the sun. I looked along the path of light crossing the water and up to the sun. It was mostly hidden behind the treetops. I watched the sun go below the horizon and the bright colors of the leaves blend into one dark color. And then I picked up the paddle. Before I dipped it into the water, I thanked Brian for showing me how to appreciate that little part of my life.

Gregory E. Lucas (GLucas6696@aol.com) has lived in northern Delaware for more than 30 years. He lives in a small house in New Castle with his wife, two dogs, and four cats. For the past 13 years, he's made his living as a tutor to homebound students.

InterText Copyright © 1991-2002 Jason Snell. This story may only be distributed as part of the collected whole of Volume 12, Number 1 of InterText. This story Copyright © 2002 Gregory E. Lucas.