Into the Valley

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. To be more specific there were never dragons in the valley. But that doesn’t stop Benji from waking Uncle Bob at four in the morning shouting “There are dragons in the valley!”

Bob squints at the light Benji has flipped on and pushes himself into an upright position, running his hand through his formerly black hair and rubbing his eyes. “What did you say?” He takes a swig of water from the glass on the bedside table.

“There’s dragons in the valley!”

“Ah." Bob glances at the clock and registers the time. 3:58. That’s what he thought he had heard, but was hopeful it was a fragment of dream. But no. Benji leans eagerly toward him in his boxers and a Pink Floyd t-shirt, breathlessly awaiting a response. “How do you know?” Bob asks softly.

“It’s on Facebook! And Instagram! And Twitter! And stuff!”

Bob sighs and looks down at the gnarled backs of his hands. “You realize there’s no such thing as dragons?”

“Very surprising, right?” Benji’s earnest blue eyes light up in wonder. “That’s why I thought I should tell you right away. I thought you’d want to know. It’s mind boggling!.” He shakes his head and his long curly locks bounce around madly as he brings his hands up and makes the universal sign for mind blown.

Benji is his kid sister’s kid, living with Bob and Martha while he attends the University. He’s not dumb. A touch gullible maybe, but quite bright really. Studying for one of those occupations that when you say it nobody has a clue what you’re talking about, like Environmental Engagement Technical Coordination or Communications Logistics Management. But mostly what Benji seems to do is play video games online in the middle of the night.

“Sounds an awful lot like Fake News to me.” Bob takes another gulp of water and tries to remember if he took his blood pressure medicine. “Don’t you think?”

“No Uncle Bob, it’s legit. They were found by these researchers from MIT.”

Bob raises his eyebrows. “Researchers from MIT were looking for dragons?”

“No, no, they were doing something about the effects of climate change on forests and they just stumbled across them. There’s even photos! Look on your phone.”

Bob picks up his phone off the nightstand and punches in the code and hands it to Benji. “You find it.”

Benji furrows his brow as he concentrates on navigating to what he’s looking for. “Ah. Here. Look at that.”

Bob takes the phone and studies the screen. What he sees is neither clear nor convincing. “Benji, this is so out of focus it could be a mushroom. Or the Loch Ness Monster for that matter.”

Benji gazes at the floor. “Yeah, I know it’s not so clear. But the scientists say they saw them and they ARE dragons. They just couldn’t get close enough to get really good pictures. As they moved toward them the dragons receded further into the forest.”

“Uh huh.”

“No, really. They even found poop.”

Bob scratches his head again. “Scientists from MIT found dragon poop?” he says in a slightly dubious tone.

Benji takes a step back and a deep breath, which he slowly lets out while he regroups. Then patiently, “Not exactly. They’re having it examined by, um…”

“Scatololigists?”

“Yes! Exactly!” exclaims Benji. “How did you know?”

Bob strokes his chin. “Lucky guess. I didn’t even know that was a real job.”

Benji grabs handfuls of his blond hair and pulls. “It is! And they say they’ve never seen anything like it! According to, you know, like…”

“Facebook?”

“Yeah.”

Bob eases his bigger than it used to be body back down into the warmth of the bed. “Well, Benj, thanks for letting me know. I’m sure this will be interesting. Please turn off the light as you exit the venue.”

Benji’s mouth drops open, aghast. “But, but but…” he sputters. “Don’t you think we should DO something!”

Bob knows full well that the conversation is not over, less likely than, say, dragons in the valley. But one can always hope. He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling. He exhales. “As you may know Benji, I am not a scatologist, nor are you, so I don’t think we would be very much help to the big shot scatologists from MIT.”

Benji frowns. “I didn’t say the scatologists were from MIT.”

“Well you don’t think a bunch of MIT climatoloigsts are going to work with some local podunk scatologists do you?” Bob grimaces. He hadn’t seen this conversation on the horizon as he drifted off to sleep.

“Uncle Bob, what I think is that we should drive down to the valley and look for the dragons. Now. Get a jump on this thing.”

“Why would we want to do that?”

“Because”, and Benji smiles triumphantly, “we are adventurous sorts!”

Bob bursts out laughing. He struggles to an upright position as he gasps with mirth. He’s been saying just that to Benji since he started his annual visit to go camping in the valley when he was five years old. Whenever he was reluctant to do something, like cross a log over a stream or get knee deep in muck to examine some swamp life Uncle Bob would always say, “We need to do this because we are adventurous sorts!:” He finishes the glass of water as he ponders. He realizes there will be no more sleep tonight. And more importantly he and Benji haven’t tromped off into the forest together for several years due to important things teenagers have to do. And of course, Mortality peers through the window in the darkness more often these days. So what if there aren’t any dragons. There never were before and they always had damn good fun. “Ok pal, let’s load up the Jeep and hit the road.”

Benji wheels around in joy! He pumps his fist in the air, yells something incomprehensible and dashes out.

“Jesus help me,” mutters Bob.

It doesn’t take long to get packed up. They both know the drill. “I left a note for Aunt Martha on the kitchen table letting her know where we are going so she won’t worry when she gets off her shift at the hospital,” says Benji soberly. He is a thoughtful fellow, that’s for sure.

“Have you got the tent poles?” asks Bob.

“What a grouch” huffs Benji. “A guy forgets the tent poles one time….”

“Once is more than enough.” As Bob rummages through his numerous pockets to find the keys that were in his hand just 20 seconds ago a voice pipes up. “What’s up guys?” They both look down. “Hey Desmeer. What’s up with you? Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

Desmeer smiles quick and soft. “Maybe. But Grandad don’t sleep too good mostly, so sometimes we play checkers in the night. No school tomorrow anyhow.” He peers into the back of the Jeep. “Where y’all going?”

Benji grins like it’s his birthday. “We’re going hunting for dragons!”

Desmeer’s eyes open wide. “For real?”

“Yup. Just discovered in the valley. We’re going to see them with our own eyes!”

“Oh wow! Dope! Can I come?” He folds his hands and puts them under his chin looking up at them like a puppy dog.

Bob glances at Benji whose eyes clearly say, “Oh, hell yeah!” Bob smiles. “OK with us. Go see what Grandad says.” Desmeer is off in a flash. And back in two flashes. With a packed bag. The old man trails behind, leaning heavily on a cane in his right hand. “Hear you boys are going dragon hunting,” he drawls.

“Yes sir!” barks Benji, saluting.

Laugh lines crinkle around the old man’s eyes. “Now don’t get bit, ya hear.” He turns to Desmeer. “And don’t you be no trouble boy.” Desmeer smiles. “I ain’t no trouble Grandad. People like me!” True enough and a little bit more. Grandad winks at Bob, who nods and winks back. And they’re off.

As they cruise down toward the valley no one speaks, each alone with his thoughts as the darkness fades and dawn begins to break. The September light gradually sets the aspens gloriously ablaze as Bob considers some of his favorite secluded campsites in the valley, Benji tries to imagine how real dragons will compare with those who inhabit his imagination, and Desmeer wonders how long until breakfast.

“So,” Bob proceeds cautiously, “just where were these dragons spotted?”

“They have spots?” Desmeer exclaims excitedly.

“I mean where were they seen.”

“Oh.”

“Well,” says Benji, “that’s the thing. It’s top secret. They don’t want all kinds of people, um…”

“Doing what we’re doing?”

“Yeah.”

“I see.” Bob smiles. “Well that gives us lots of options as to where to go, right?”

Benji sighs in relief. He was afraid Bob would be pissed off if he didn’t even know where to head. Bob, of course, is not too concerned. “Ok. I gotta admit I’m not too familiar with the type of habitat dragons might prefer,” admits Bob. “So you’ll have to help me out here Benj.”

“Uh, well, yeah, like somewhere with water I guess. Everything needs water.”

“Good point,” concedes Bob. “How about the Blueberry Cut, on the outskirts of Gretchen’s Marsh?”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” says Benji.

“I like blueberries!” pipes in Desmeer.

“Aw, sorry pal,” groans Benji. “ Blueberry season is over. We were at the Blueberry Cut once when the blueberries were full on and we saw some bears chowing down. That was awesome!”

Bob chuckles. “You’re not going to mention that you peed your pants?”

“I wasn’t planning on it.” Benji grins. “Yeah, I was pretty scared. You hungry Dez? There’s some marshmallows in that bag there. I brought ‘em just in case?”

“Sure. I’m kinda hungry. In case what?”

“Well, you know, if we catch a baby dragon, we could like teach him to roast marshmallows for us. Nothing like a nice golden brown toasted marshmallow.” Desmeer and Bob both swivel their heads around to stare at Benji. “Naw, just kidding,” Benji giggles.

“Could they start a forest fire?” asks Desmeer.

This brings Benji up short. He has not considered this astonishing possibility. Dragons and global warming do not mix. He slumps down in his seat.

Bob joins the conversation. “We’ll have to think about that won’t we Dez.”

“Yeah,” he whispers soberly.

“But,” continues Bob, “so far, so good. Absolutely zero dragon ignited forest fires reported as of now. Let’s stop for some breakfast.”

Martha picks up the note held down on the kitchen table by a salt shaker. Auntie, We’re going to the valley to see if we can find the dragons. Look for us on the news! -Love, Benji. She purses her lips. “Well, that’s about par for the course,” she mutters. She looks skyward. “Nice enough day for it I guess.”

After a hearty breakfast at a place called Rudi’s Roost they to the Walmart on the outskirts of Winfield Gulch for some edible essentials. They are standing by their cart waiting in line to check out when Bob asks mildly, “Did you get the bait.?”

Benji stares at him for a minute. “You mean the dragon bait?”

“Yeah.”

“They don’t sell it at Walmart.”

“They don’t? Huh.”

Desmeer follows the conversation with interest. He wonders if they might have some at Costco.

Into the heart of the valley they follow the tangle of winding roads that eventually become so rutted that the Jeep has to slow to a crawl. This makes them all feel like real men and of course, adventurous sorts. “How old are you anyhow?” Benji asks Desmeer.

Dez ponders. “Ten. But I’ll be eleven two weeks from tomorrow.” He pauses a moment. “You guys want to come to my party?”

“Sure,” says Benji. “What do you want for your birthday?”

“Oh you don’t hafta get me a present,” responds Desmeer.

To which Benji replies, “Maybe I will and maybe I won’t.” They both laugh, and at that second the Jeep hits a pothole so big it bounces both of them against the ceiling. “Ow!” “Ow!” “Oof!” “You guys ok?" asks Bob after a moment. Both claim to be uninjured, and the Jeep comes to a halt about 200 feet further on.

They are in a clearing under a Cottonwood so they tramp around for a few minutes looking for the perfect place to pitch the tent. They all agree the bumpy ground is a terrible place to pitch a tent and promptly set it up. Bob’s back begins to hurt in anticipation of a night on the ground.”

There’s a well used fire ring with a couple log benches. Benji and Desmeer go off to look for firewood while Bob gets out a camping chair and finds a spot with just the right combination of shade and autumn sunlight, then slowly lowers himself into it, adjusts his Highland Hitters baseball cap so the bill shades his eyes, which he closes so he can meditate on one of his favorite topics: youth is wasted on the young. He knows someone famous said it and figures if was younger he could probably remember who it was. Shakespeare? No, not Shakespeare.

The boys emerge from the scrub heatedly discussing something biomes something mobs something Minecraft, every bit of which eludes Bob. They are dragging firewood, which they unceremoniously drop in what Bob would call, “the wrong place.” Bob takes off his cap and runs his hand through his hair, looks as Desmeer and comments truthfully, “Nice hairstyle.”

“Oh, thanks. It’s a low fade drop with short sponge twists.”

“Wow,” says Bob, “That’s quite a fancy name for a haircut.

“Huh,” says Desmeer, “What’s yours called?”

Benji laughs “His is called, ‘Gimme the same thing I had last time.' ” The boys fall down laughing.

“Well, I…” says Bob, “I uh…”

“Uncle Bob, what would you say if you wanted Desmeers haircut?”

Bob thinks for a second, points at Desmeer, “I’ll have what he’s got.” The boys fall down laughing again. After the laughter subsides Bob asks, “Can you make a campfire in that Minecraft thing?”

“Of course,” they immediately reply.

“Good. Then you can set up a nice campfire in that ring right there.”

“But we need to get out there searching for dragons,” replies Benji with urgency.

“Oh, I know,” says Bob. “I just want it set up in case it’s dark when we return." He he snaps his fingers, “One match! Voila! Campfire!” Bob thinks to himself, “See, I’m an optimist.” Benji quickly shows Desmeer the basics of what he’s learned about making a fire over the years and then the three of them have a short discussion of what to carry in their backpacks. And the searchers set out.

They skirt the margin of the marsh, Benji in the lead and repeatedly whispering that he hopes they’re downwind of the dragons so they aren’t detected. He glances around as if to try to figure out exactly which way the wind is blowing. He is followed by Desmeer, who is contentedly munching on some Flaming Hot Something or Others he’d put in their cart at the Walmart. Bob brings up the rear, ever so happy to be alive. The next time Benji turns to check the wind he notices Desmeer. “Hey!” he whispers frantically, “the dragons might smell those!”

Desmeer cocks his head. “That’s good, right? I’m pretty sure they’ll want some. I don’t think dragons are stupid.” Since he can think of no good rejoinder, Benji turns and moves stealthily forward. The afternoon wears away in nothing but silence and beauty. The snacks dwindle. With a touch of disappointment the searchers decide to return to camp. As they wend their way back a sudden wind pushes a bank of clouds down the canyon and threatens rain, so they quickly don their ponchos.

As they move on Desmeer plays with the knobs of the binoculars, which he has been carrying for about an hour. When it starts to rain lightly he asks if he should put them away. “Don’t worry,” says Bob. “They’re waterproof.” The path dips into a depression, the rain gets harder, and a mist thickens to fog. Bob wonders how the kid can navigate and look through the binoculars, but he manages to do both easily. Suddenly Desmeer whispers excitedly, “Oooo, I think I see them!”

“Let me see those!” Benji grabs the binoculars and holds them tensely to his eyes. The rain is a downpour and the fog is thick. “Crap! I can’t see a thing!” he moans. But low to the ground, there! Did he see a giant tail swish? The fog intensifies. Something seems to loom above them in the distance.

“Let me see those!” Bob grabs the binoculars and holds them expently to his eyes. He adjusts them slightly and the fog parts for a sharp view. Bob gasps! He takes a breath to calm himself. Then he speaks, low and measured, “Benji, get out the camera. Best lens. And you can forget about the marshmallows.”

“What the… what?” sputters Benji.

“Not dragons”, says Bob. "Dinosaurs."

The fog turns to pea soup. A thunderous crash erupts just ahead. Then silence.