Voyageur II

[FormalBear]

Voyageur II finally made it to Timberwolf Mountain! Slept last night on one of the thin-blanketed cots in the Mountaineer's Hut, gazing at the stars (through the gaping hole in the roof). (As the song goes: "They say don't go / On Timberwolf Mountain / If you're lookin' / To survive".)

At the 140-day mark of his odyssey, V2 is a hardscrabble survivor, dressed in warm armor, wielding a mean bow. He's napped in all the best tractors, denuded the windows of dozens of drafty cabins - and learned to sew better than his great-great-grandma. While he could make himself comfortable, here, with all the fish he can eat just a short slog from his front door - he's looking for more of a challenge. Looks like a plane crashed, somewhere around here, last September (or was it the September before that?). Let's go find it, shall we? (He's taken to talking to himself, not having encountered a living soul in so long. You would, too!)

[FormalBear]

Voyageur II is okay! He once was lost - but now, he's found! And he's not crazy, after all!

Let me explain. About a week ago, as he was out doing what a probe does - probing, I suppose - he found a few of those supply crates the mountaineer wrote about, at either end of a vertical cave. (Could this be the fabled Cave of Engines?) After opening the one with clothes in it, and finding an ear wrap - huzzah! - and not a single pair of woolen undies - bad show! - he closed it up, again, having neither the energy nor the carrying capacity to tear up all the decaying - and boringly redundant - garments. "I can always come back, later; I'll remember where it is. Not far from the upper cave entrance."

Some time went by - mainly for a quick run to the farm in Pleasant Valley, where he'd forgotten his toolbox. (How, he asked himself, was he to keep his hacksaw in decent shape without his tools?) When he went back - as he was churning through cloth more quickly than he'd reckoned... bloody wolves! - the confounded crate was harder to find than he thought. Back and forth along the frozen fen he wandered, until he finally spotted it. (Was it really here, all the time? These things don't MOVE, do they?) Now he could get the bad clothes to make cloth for the good clothes! But wait... what's this? It is sealed shut...? Needs to be sawn open...? This mustn't be the same crate, at all! This one has old energy bars and slightly newer crackers. Where in this frozen mockery of Hades is the clothing crate?!

He left to warm up in the cave, alternately scratching his head and tearing at his hair. (Damned itchy, this balaclava!) He figured he'd find the crate he'd somehow "lost", at some point - unless he ran out of rags to patch them. But he'd be damned if he'd be slinking off this mountain with his tail between his legs! Not before he finds the rest of that aircraft - and those blasted crates!

He toddled out the bottom end of the cave and down the path, glancing at the other two crates he'd found and looted. (I did take everything, didn't I?) He lifted a panel - yes, empty. But what about... THIS OTHER PANEL?! These crates have TWO compartments! The other crate... DID have clothes in it. AND food!

He felt like an idiot on Christmas Day, as he unsealed the second compartment of the third crate with his recently-repaired hacksaw. (More bars. More crackers. Yum-meh.) Home again, home again - jiggity-jig, and all that.

But he took a wrong turn at the top of the path out of the ravine. A left turn, that, though wrong, turned out all right. He found a wing! (The left wing, at that.) And two more cargo crates - four more caches of goodness. And - ohhh. The poor mountaineer! (Barely kept his family fed, I'll wager.)

It was then quite dark. He didn't know where he was. Even if he had known he was just minutes from Crystal Lake, he still would have deemed it too dangerous to try to make it to the Mountaineer's Hut. He was lucky he didn't try it. He was lucky the plane took him under its wing for the night.

In the morning, as our hero emerged from his makeshift boudoir, the wolf who had been feasting on a deer just steps from the wing crates, having finished with the deer, tried to finish V2. (So it wasn't just my stomach growling while I was opening those crates. Hmmm!) Major bruising - but nothing compared to what his ego had taken, the previous day.

This was all getting to be a bit much for our Voyageur. He wanted to see something he recognized. He wanted to sleep in a bed, under a real (partial) roof! He longed for the Hut, and its respite. Naturally, he headed further afield.

A snowfield. A vista. A cave, of sorts. Another night. A rope, leading down to familiar wreckage. Was he to leave a pile of hard-won booty, here, and shimmy down this rope? No, sir!

He did what any stubborn mountain goat would do: He climbed down. Ledge to ledge. Only one, minor fall. Sprained wrist, rumpled clothing.

Now - where am I? This damned ravine, again. Fine.

Voyageur II schlepped home from there, realizing, of course, that he could simply have turned back, at any point short of his suicidal descent of the cliff. Could have retraced his steps. (Go back? What? Never!)

Back in the Mountaineer's Hut, Voyageur II slept like the dead thing he nearly had become.

[Prestermatt]

I can't wait to hear if V2 makes it to the top.

I tip my hat to you, sir.

[FormalBear]

A nod and a finger alongside the nose to you, kind sir. Do stay tuned!

[FormalBear]

Voyageur II happened to look up at the right time - and saw what appeared to be a section of the fuselage, on top of a local peak, not far from the Mountaineer's Hut. As he circled around, he found himself passing the "upper" Engine - but couldn't see any way up, from there. "Maybe the access is on the other side of the mountain? It must be," he figured.

Just then, a blizzard descended, and V2 had to hunker down for the night in the Cave of Engines.

But he felt good. Good to be wearing deerskin pants, which he'd spent the better part of a couple of days fashioning, having recently noticed his deer hides had dried, nicely, on the floor of the MH. Good to know he'd soon have a bearskin bedroll to insulate him from the brutal night air (the next time Mother Nature caught him with his deerskin pants down, having nowhere mild/sheltered to sleep).

Oh - I forgot to mention: Not only did V2 get the bear he'd been stalking - the one that wandered too close to the lake for his comfort - he found - and shot - a Second bear, just a couple of days later! As soon as the hides were ready - and as soon as he felt like spending two or three more tedious days in front of a workbench - he'd piece that together. ("But what about all the fishing tackle I'll go through? I'll still need some to Fish with!" He was glad he had a passel of bear intestines curing, alongside the hides.)

He'd get up there. Oh, he'd find a way up there, he swore, as he shut his eyes.

[FormalBear]

Voyageur II made the summit!

After fumbling around in frustration for a few days, V2 finally climbed a rope he could have sworn led only up to a ridge he had already explored. He quickly realized he was wrong! He saw a clearing full of deer; this was new. So was the cargo crate he happened to spy! Ah, whetstones! Each one might as well be a three-ounce gold bar (though lighter, fortunately).

He left the loot in place, knowing he'd be back this way. Mission over all.

After a tussle with a wolf, he followed it for a bit, hoping to see it expire. It led him on a merry chase. It led him to another rope! He climbed it, feeling wise not to have overloaded his pack.

All this took place in near-blizzard conditions. He was tired, wet, a bit cold, and getting torn up. Fortunately, he was able to find the entrance to a cave - a big one, that wound out of sight into the gloom. Time to make camp; he didn't know how many cliffs he'd have to scale in the morning.

You sourdoughs know pretty much how things unfolded, from there. Until he was ready to descend, at least. Our Voyageur II is part mountain goat, remember. As he sawed open the last of the cargo containers in the tail section of the crashed plane, he saw sharp shadows form, and heard the crows begin squawking. The weather had broken! The summit was brilliantly illuminated - and mild; even hospitable. He decided to check out the view on all sides, rather than head straight back. He spotted the "upper" engine, way below. There'd been no way up, from there - but what about Down?

Having ventured to the precipice of a series of narrow ledges, he realized he didn't have the footholds to climb back up. There would be no changing his mind, now. Onward and downward!

(Ow.)

[hozz1235]

Mind the sprained ankles going down!  Some great loot in that tail-section, eh?  I also made the same mistake of missing many compartments in the crates.  By the time I got back to TWM, most things were at 0%   Lesson learned.