Fleeing the oppressive temperatures of a typical southland summer day, the hiker trudged through an old growth alpine forest dense with large white firs and jeffrey pines. A slim drizzle, released by dark clouds looming over the San Emigdio mountains, barely filtered through the canopy. With a little luck, he thought, they’ll burst and I’ll get a good soaking. For now, he could count the droplets hitting his cap visor at irregular intervals, and evaporating within minutes.

A mile in, he came across a man sporting a bright orange, long sleeve shirt like the ones road cleaning crews wear, a sun-bleached baseball cap and underneath the cap, a blue bandana that neatly kept his shoulder-length gray hair behind his ears. His stride was agile, he didn’t kick up dirt like most hikers, even though he was pulled vigorously by a leashed, slate gray medium-sized part pit bull, part boxer, part urban survivalist mutt. Another dog trotted freely at his side.

“Hey. How are you doing?” The man said with a smile, and an expression that demanded a reply, not the robotic, meaningless but customary greeting. Then he added, before the hiker could reply, “Have you seen a bear?”

“Good morn..? Hum…No. No I haven’t.”

“Ah. Good. I heard they spotted one earlier, at the campground”, the man pointed in the direction the hiker was heading.

“Really?” the hiker said, “a big one?”

“About your size.” The man grinned. “I was told. I didn’t see it.” The hiker smiled in return but asked no more about the bear sighting, not wanting to appear nervous. “I ask because I gotta be on my toes with these guys. Especially him, he’ll dart at the whiff of a fart in Gorman.”

On cue, the beast’s body tightened and leaped towards a clump of bushes. “Ho. Ho. Here he goes!” With both hands on the leash, and digging his heals into the dirt, the man fought to keep his balance. The dog let the resistance lift his torso and front legs in the air while maintaining his own equilibrium on his hind legs. “There’s so many smells out here.” The man exclaimed over his shoulder as he shortened the leash. “Stay!” He commanded. The dog responded, reluctantly, letting his tensed body rest on all fours, keeping his gaze fixed on the bushes. Meanwhile, the other dog had quietly laid down next to the hiker’s feet.

“You think he smelled that bear you were talking about?” the hiker asked.

“Nah! He would’ve barked. She’s the one tells me when there’s a real threat. He’s just a nervous pup.” The man went on to tell the tale of how he’d rescued the nervous pup from the forest where he’d been abandoned by an abusive owner, not far from where they were standing. It was a good story that included encounters with a hummingbird, second amendment people and a visit to the center of the world, but by the time he was done telling it the pup was pulling on the leash again like a child who’s got far better things to do than wait patiently for adults to finish a boring conversation. They parted ways and the hiker too was glad to be moving again.

The trail flattened as it emerged from the alpine forest onto a meadow that climbed gently to Mount Pinos, first destination of the day. Dark, moisture-laden clouds lingered high above softening the light over the landscape but not the visibility. From the summit, the trail guide said, you get three-hundred-sixty degree views of the Los Padres National Forest and beyond, including the Chumash wilderness to the West, where the hiker was ultimately headed. Shortly before reaching the peak, he noticed a hat on the ground, a few feet off the trail, under the shade of an ageless limber pine with a trunk it would take two or three humans to hug, and limbs like tentacles that reached out and threatened to coil themselves around you to feed you into the jagged mouth of a sea monster, the kind you only find in the perpetually dark depths of the deepest ocean. A brightly multicolored hummingbird was embroidered on the rim of the hat, which was clean, as if it had been dropped just moments ago. The hiker thought about picking it up at the same time as he tried to remember what part a hummingbird had played in the dog rescue story he’d just heard.

“I’ve been looking for four days already”, the old man’s recounted, “getting frustrated, and a little sad, because I couldn’t imagine how this young city pup could’ve survived out here. Plus, it’s getting cold, you know, it’s mid March, four thirty in the afternoon, and there’s still snow on the ground. When all of a sudden, I get knocked on the side of the head. I was so surprised I nearly fell over. Then I look up and right in front of my eyes, looking as stunned as me, is this silver blue hummingbird, the size of a tiny pine cone, hovering and staring back at me. It was like a slow motion movie, although for real it probably only lasted a second or so. Then it shook its little head and zipped away.” The man swiftly looked away, he was a lively storyteller, punctuating every action with gestures that recreated the scene. “And what do you know, as I follow the flight of the bird, I spot this fool.” He leans over the gray dog and pets him. The dog shakes his head and lets out a snort. “He’s hiding in the bushes, checking me out.”

After having not picked up the hat but simply nudged it closer to the trail so it would be visible to anyone passing by, the hiker forged on. He’d gone less than a hundred steps when he came across another dog walker.

“Have you seen a hat by any chance?” She shouted, still a fair distance away. She carried a fancy retractable hiking pole in one hand, holding the leash with the other. At the end of the leash, swerving back and forth, snout to the ground, was neon orange harness strapped to a fine and slim dog of a breed the hiker couldn’t identify.

“As a matter of fact I have.” The hiker replied.

“Ha. Great!” The woman smiled. She was middle-aged, short dark hair with a gray streak that was a bit too bright to be natural, and wore quality hiker gear from top to bottom. “Hate to lose a good hat.” She slowed down but didn’t stop. The hiker noted the bear spray canister holstered on the side of her backpack. “I figured I lost it around here. When she took off after a squirrel or something…” Or a bear, the hiker thought. “I had to run after her. Not like her at all. Normally, she’s too scared.”

“Did you see what it was?” The hiker asked. She hadn’t, she said as she passed by. “Your hat is over there, under that big pine tree. You can’t miss it.”

“I see it. Thanks!” She yelled back.

(To be continued)