To The Wild Country Ch. 01

I nodded. "I agree!"

She smiled, briefly, then clamped her lips together to hide her braces. "Where you headed next week?"

I read the printout. "Deadwood River."

It took a moment to locate the river on the map. "That's right by Pine Flats," (clothing optional hot springs) she observed.

"Yeah, it's a tough job but somebody's gotta do it."

"I'm envious!" She sighed then continued, "Well, I gotta get some work done. See ya next Friday."

"Yeah, see ya." Indeed, I would see Megan on Friday. And I was hoping beyond hope to see even more of her in the future: every square inch of her bare freckled skin.

Megan turned and hurried away toward the greenhouse and once again, her feminine essence hung suspended in space, as enticing as the lingering scent of her perfume. Eyes bluer than a summer sky . . .

* * * *

Throughout the remainder of June I was assigned to inspect more parcels on National Forest land. My travels took me into regions so remote that no foot trails existed, not even a trace. Standing on pine-speckled mountainsides, I was gripped with the feeling that I was the first human to ever set foot on those pieces of terra firma. Perhaps that was so.

On one trip I visited Rocky Canyon Hot Springs along the middle fork of the Payette River where I had the chain of pools to myself. And on another trip, I hung out at Vulcan with three nudist backpacker women who shared their killer weed. Woo hoo!

In my state of altered awareness, I stood bathed in sulfurous steam issuing from The Source. It wasn't just my imagination; along with steam, truth was revealed, truth of inner earth and my inner self. Attentively, I listened and opened my mind, waiting for the ancient oracle to impart the wisdom of the ages. Immersed in the wilderness, I felt overarching peace. Perhaps that is the wisdom of the ages. Peace.

After each assignment, Megan met me in the forestry lab on Friday morning to assist in entering the voluminous data into the IBM mainframe. She was always cheerful and diligent, two positive character traits. Her assistance wasn't entirely altruistic; Richard was giving her extra credit for helping me. Each Friday morning I wanted to ask her if, perhaps, she would like to accompany me on an outing to Atlanta Hot Springs. But I was hesitant to broach the subject; would she accept an invitation to spend an afternoon naked with a man she barely knew? A man 11 years her senior?

* * * *

My next assignment took me way up the middle fork of the Salmon River into some spectacular mountain backcountry. As always, I relished my sojourn in the wilderness. And, as always, most of my time was spent clothed in nothing but sunshine.

Friday morning in the forestry lab: tap tap tappety tap . . . Megan's slender fingers flew over the keyboard, entering volumes of dull, dry information; pine bark beetle counts, sap-oozing bore hole analysis and dead tree measurements. After all the data had been entered she printed my next assignment, up the south fork of the Payette River. I mentioned that Sacajawea Hot Springs were in that vicinity and how eager I was to check them out. That must have struck a chord with Nature Girl; she spoke of growing tired of being stuck in town and would love to get away into the wild.

I looked Megan in the eye and asked, "You wanna go with me on an assignment?" I had hope, but no real expectation, that she might accept my invitation to accompany me on a field assignment, so I wasn't disappointed when she replied, "I can't. Got classes."

"What about between sessions? You're off that week, right?"

"Yeah." Her tone was lukewarm and she said nothing more. Megan seemed hesitant, as if questioning the wisdom of venturing alone into the wilderness with a man she barely knew.

"Bring Kelly along," I suggested. "Maybe Rich'll give you both extra credit."

Her tone shifted; she sounded genuinely interested. "You think?"

"Well, I'll ask him."

Her mood became upbeat. "Okay! If he would do that," she nodded, "yeah, I would go."

I was acquainted with Kelly, Megan's housemate, having talked with her on Friday mornings in the lab. Like Megan, Kelly was an all-American co-ed; energetic, inquisitive, fresh-faced, radiating health and vitality. Both girls were about the same height, five-feet-five, and possessed similar lean, toned bodies which meant they probably swapped clothing on a regular basis. Fantasies of the two of them standing before a mirror in their underwear, trying on each other's wardrobe, provided masturbation fodder on more than one occasion. Kelly's appearance differed from Megan's in two significant respects; brunette hair and small breasts. On casual Fridays Kelly routinely wore tube tops that drew attention to her dearth of endowment. The possibility that both of them might accompany me on a field assignment had my excitement on an upward track. But it was dependent on whether or not Richard would allow it.

* * * *

The gravel Forest Service road leading to my assigned work area passed right by Sacajawea Hot Springs, on the banks the south fork of the Payette River. No one was there on that Monday morning. Hot springs are usually referred to in plurality because most sites have more than one vent gushing hot water. Sacajawea had at least a half-dozen steaming vents spread along 100 yards of riverbank. Only three vents had been impounded in pools behind semicircular rock dams set right in the riverbed. The rest flowed directly into the river although in places, foundational remnants remained of once-upon-a-time pools, long since washed away by vernal freshets. I had no time to tarry that morning, but if my work week progressed smoothly, I planned to indulge a soothing hot soak before heading back to Boise.

After driving to my assigned work area, then backpacking an additional four miles up the north fork of Baron Creek, one look at the mountainside verified I had my work cut out. Scores of brown pines awaited my postmortem examination. Once I established camp, I stripped naked and set about my work, all the while keeping my eyes on the prize: Sacajawea. Monday I toiled until twilight and did the same on Tuesday. Toil might be overstated; at no time did I feel rushed or harried. Never could I feel that way in the wilderness because nature never hurries; like time itself, nature flows at its own leisurely pace, unconcerned with the vain striving of man.

Daily, I fell into a rhythm that carried me along as easily as clouds drifting across the blue summer sky. With each tree examined, another notch toward completion. Then another tree and another and by Wednesday evening I was finished, having conducted thorough inspections of 87 dead and dying pines.

Thursday morning I arrived back at Sacajawea. My hot springs guidebook stated that no clothing requirement was posted, but swimsuits were recommended because the gravel Forest Service road ran immediately adjacent, about 100 feet away. But the road was uphill, about 30 vertical feet; people driving past had little chance of noticing soakers way down below. Only those who stopped and pulled to the roadside might spy nudity, but since they would be stopping for a soak . . . so what?

Two cars were parked alongside the road and their owners were at riverside. Five suited twentysomethings, two guys and three girls, were soaking in one small pool, and 40 feet downstream, a guy and a girl, both 30ish, were busy stacking rocks to build another pool at one of the unexploited vents. The long-haired, bearded guy was naked. His raven-haired female companion wore nothing but a blue thong bikini brief. The two of them gave me all the encouragement needed to indulge Sacajawea as nature intended.

"Hey," I greeted the pair as I stepped down the slope. The girl plopped a grapefruit size, rounded granite stone in place on the growing dam then raised upright and slung her long ponytail back over her shoulder. "Hey!" she replied. Had she been wearing a top its only purpose would have been covering; her small breasts didn't need support.

"You want some help?" I asked.

"Sure!" the guy answered. No barriers.

I closed the remaining distance then stripped naked. Only then were proper introductions made. The pool under construction was being built upon the foundation of a former pool. "This one here," Mike said, gesturing toward the fledgling pool, "gets washed away every spring and we hafta rebuild it." Their motivation for working hard to rebuild the dam sprang from two sources. The vent just upslope had a significant flow rate of scalding water which made it possible to supply a large pool which, according to Mike, had developed a reputation for being the most popular at Sacajawea. "And sweat labor does the body good!" Sheila chimed in with a smile. Indeed, it had done her lean, toned, tanned, petite body worlds of good. And being able to labor unclothed in plain view of her, and the three bikini-clad girls soaking nearby, did my exhibitionist's nature a world of good. The three girls glanced and grinned, seeming to be amused by the sight of nudists at work. Whenever I bent over to wrest big rocks from the riverbed, I pointed my posterior in their direction and lingered a moment, mooning them without mercy. Glancing between my legs confirmed they were watching the gonad-dangling spectacle.

Onward we labored, stacking rocks of every size to build the dam higher for what was shaping up to be a pool 20 feet in diameter. Our cause gained momentum when the two suited guys added their energy to the project. Their three female friends pitched in as well although the blonde spent more time standing around watching than working. The two brunette bikini girls gave a yeoman's effort; granite rock after rock they trundled from riverbed to dam, not seeming to mind working within elbow-rubbing proximity of two naked men.

After plopping a big rock into place on the dam, the girl wearing a black string bikini lost her balance and stumbled sideways. Reflexively, her arms flailed for something, anything, to grab that would prevent falling. In the ensuing panic, one of her hands rammed my butt while I was in a compromised position: bent over, wresting a big rock from the riverbed. She might have crashed to the ground if not for the support she gained from practically giving me a prostate exam. Her profuse apologies were entirely unnecessary, yet charming; embarrassed girls possess a magical quality that makes them even more endearing.

By noon we had succeeded in restoring the largest pool at Sacajawea; 20 feet in diameter and 16 inches deep. All eight of us waded in and sat down chest-deep in our joint accomplishment. Temperature control was tricky. Time spent tinkering with rocks in the dam to admit just the right amount of cold river water produced limited success; alternating waves of hot and cold rippled from one side of the pool to the other. One moment Sheila was comfortably ensconced chest-deep and the next she screeched, "Oh fuck!" and leaped to her feet to avoid getting scalded. Likewise, the rest of us did our share of jumping to escape the capricious thermal currents. Not exactly the kind of relaxing experience I associate with hot spring soaking.

That may have been the reason the five suited individuals returned to the other pool. And that was one of the reasons I bid Mike and Sheila farewell and headed on down the road. The other reason: I had many miles to drive to reach Boise.

* * * *

"He will? Great!" Friday morning in the forestry lab, Megan was excited because Richard had agreed to give extra credit to both her and Kelly if they accompanied me on a field assignment to make pine bark beetle inspections. The extra credit wouldn't count toward their general course work but would apply to the work accomplished during the week-long field trip the entire class would be taking in mid August. Megan was so pumped, as soon as we finished entering data into the IBM mainframe, she wanted to hustle home and begin assembling her camping gear for Monday morning.

But first, she navigated through the computer program and printed our assignment for the following week: two parcels in Sawtooth National Forest. I was pumped as well because the assigned zones placed us in the vicinity of Worswick Hot Springs: scores of individual vents spread over several acres of mountain meadow, a substantial hot creek, seven rock-lined soaking pools and the entire place clothing optional. The prospect of skinny-dipping with Nature Girl and Kelly, had my excitement rising higher than the Sawtooth Mountains themselves.

* * * *

Monday morning, I pulled the Blazer to a halt in front of Megan's off-campus apartment, one of three units carved out of a stately, formerly single-family home. On the front porch, seated on a ratty old sofa, she and Kelly waited. Both were dressed in trail garb: dark T-shirts and cargo shorts. Both had their long hair pulled back in ponytails. A wide-brimmed straw hat sat Atop Megan's fiery red head.

Their overstuffed backpacks, leaning against the porch rail, made it appear as if they were headed for a months-long expedition to Katmandu rather than four days in the Idaho mountains. At the curb, I stepped out of the Blazer and greeted them, "Hey!"

"Hey!" they returned my greeting in unison.

I walked up the steps onto the front porch. "So, y'all ready to rumble?"

"Yup," Kelly replied and the two of them rose to their feet. The housemates lugged their backpacks to the Blazer, tossed them in back, and off we rumbled down the road.

On the long drive to our destination, we listened to Bob Seger's Live Bullet. When Bob belted out, "K-k-k-k-k-k Katmandu, that's really, really where I'm going to . . ." I had to grin, thinking about the girls' overstuffed backpacks. Megan and Kelly sat in back so they could talk. And talk they did, excitedly and nonstop. Both were in good cheer. And whenever the spirit moved them, they sang along with Bob. Getting away from the classroom and heading to the mountains does the soul a world of good.

Our assignment for the week was to inspect two parcels in Sawtooth National Forest, the first one 9 miles north of Ketchum. I was able to drive the Blazer a quarter-mile up Murdock Creek Valley before the rough jeep trail petered out. From there, we hoofed it. Watching the girls hoist their monster backpacks onto their shoulders, I felt fortunate not to be in their hiking boots. Whenever I venture into the wild, I travel light. We didn't have very far to hike, two miles up the winding valley which gradually narrowed, flanked by steep mountainsides speckled with pines. At a flat spot along the creek, we sloughed our backpacks. After pitching our tents, we climbed upslope to an area beset with dead pines and began our work. Both girls were attentive while I outlined the procedures for conducting inspections. The extra credit Richard agreed to extend would depend on my report on how well they performed.

Hand job, 5 points.

Blow job, 10 points.

Doggy style, 20 points.

Oh man! Stop it! In Megan's company, such fantasies came easily.

While I outlined the procedures, Megan's sky blue eyes peered out from beneath her wide-brimmed straw hat. She took additional precautions to prevent ultraviolet radiation from burning her freckled, sun-sensitive skin: lots of sunscreen on her arms and legs. Kelly, olive-skinned, wasn't worried about solar exposure. After turning the girls loose to begin the inspections, Kelly stripped off her forest green T-shirt, revealing a yellow tube top. Although she had small breasts, huge nipple pokies were noted, pressing against the thin fabric. The girls began counting sap-oozing bore holes and immediately ran into difficulty.

"I lost count," Megan said.

Kelly pointed at a hole. "Did you count this one?"

"I dunno."

I stepped in. "Here's how I do it." A short stick the diameter of a pencil I picked up and poked it into the sticky sap bulging out of the bore hole. After withdrawing the stick, an indentation remained in the sap. "See that?" I asked. They nodded. "That's how you know it's been counted."

Both girls picked up short, thin sticks and began counting and poking on the same tree but more difficulty arose. Neither was sure who poked which hole and they lost count again. So I advised each to select their own tree to inspect and the process went much smoother.

Megan and Kelly were fast studies and diligent in their work; on their respective trees they accomplished the entire range of observations mandated by the field manual, after which I took the requisite photos. But none of this felt like work. The girls remained upbeat and high-spirited. And so was I, even though it wasn't certain we would have time to indulge a hot soak at Worswick Hot Springs. That depended on how quickly we completed the inspections. By evening, we were only half done. The remainder we deferred until morning.

After supper, after dark, we sat cross-legged on the ground around the campfire. Dreamy dancing flames sent plumes of pine-scented smoke spiraling toward the treetops. Between the dark looming crags of the Sawtooth Range, billions of stars sparkled in the clear mountain sky.

I discovered what was making the girls' backpacks so bulky: multiple bags of snacks. "We're gonna hafta tie those up in a tree to keep bears out of camp," I cautioned.

"Not if we eat it all!" Kelly shot back, grinning.

"What's your favorite?" Megan asked me.

Red hair, five-feet-five, charming personality . . . . "Doritos." She rummaged through her backpack, pulled out an unopened bag of the zesty tortilla chips, and tossed it at me. "Here ya go!"

I caught the bag. "Thanks! Nacho cheese! Yummy!"

The evening passed pleasantly, munching snacks and engaging in convivial conversation. In the company of these delightful young women, I felt like a college student again, filled with hope for the future. And no, we didn't succeed in eating all the snacks. Not even close, although we gave it the ol' college try. The leftovers I placed in a large nylon bag onto which I tied a long rope then hoisted it high into a tall pine.

The following morning, Tuesday, we resumed our work and finished the inspections by midday. By 2:00 P.M. we were back at the Blazer. The second parcel on our assignment, up Black Horse Creek, was smaller than the first and judging from the aerial photos, had fewer dead trees to inspect. With three of us working, I made a calculated decision that only one day, Wednesday, would be needed to perform the inspections. So, by unanimous acclamation, instead of proceeding to the parcel we blew off work and headed to Worswick Hot Springs.

Thirty-two miles of twisting, turning gravel Forest Service roads deep into the mountains delivered us to Worswick. A dozen vehicles were parked alongside the road when we arrived at 3:30 P.M.. In a vast mountain meadow largely devoid of pines, scores of vents sent plumes of white steam wafting toward the blue summer sky like smoke rising from as many campfires.

While Megan and I rummaged through our backpacks at the Blazer's open tailgate, in the front passenger seat Kelly changed into her swimsuit. She was right there only a few feet away, but all I saw was bare shoulders and the back of her brunette head . . . until I noticed visor was down. Reflected in the vanity mirror, I caught a fleeting glimpse of nipple, one sizable nipple. Kelly finished changing then stepped out of the Blazer wearing a hot pink string bikini. Stealthily, I scanned her lean, toned body. At the apex of her small breasts, huge nipple pokies. And her top wasn't even wet yet. Pronounced camel toe led me to speculate she shaved or at least trimmed.

Daypacks slung over their shoulders, the girls proceeded up the trail toward the hot pools. Right behind Kelly I followed, watching her backside. The patch of polyester comprising the seat of her brief left most of her cute caboose exposed, showcasing the tiny butterfly tattoo on her left bun.