Derrick Knowles

Bitterroot Revival

Sunrise

White pine almost touching the sky, bull pine, thick barked and wide above balsamroot and camas, bitterroot scattered on southern slopes. Higher up the valley, cedar and hemlock thick on the northern ridges, down and back up the other side of creek bottoms where beargrass and wild ginger mix with kinnikinnick, down to the few hidden valleys with the mist of hot water and mud collecting-algae blooming in open meadows and hot, gleaming rocks of pure steam.

The chewing began again, another mouthful of warm, dripping plants. But the view from up and down the narrow valley couldn't be ignored between mouthfuls. Always the cautious watching, mud dripping from long ragged neck in rhythm with the chewing. Another mouthful in the morning half-light. The sun was just breaking through a thick shade of moss-draped cedar, cutting at the edges of thin melting clouds, breaking up the night grays of rock and bark with all the colors of a mountain morning.

He looked up the valley again; a shower of dripping mud cascading from gaps in his working teeth sent ripple rings running through the tall reflection where his long legs met the brightening silver shadows on the pool. The surface of the steaming water squinted back at him through the muddy haze of his one good eye. He stared down the valley for an entire mouthful of chewing, and then stood still, staring. Listening. Far away down the narrow valley where he stood, down to the river and the wide valley below-Kla-chink, Chink, Kla-chink! Like a woodpecker working on the high stone cliffs of the divide, the sound worked its way up the mountains-Kla-chink, Chink, Kla-chink!

The moose stepped suddenly from the warm pool, up over the uneven circle of smooth river rocks in one lurching movement, lumbering his gangly bulk into a tangle of red-stemmed brush that barely touched his underside, brushing up against his rump as he stood there, four long legs holding his dark body still, listening. Old One-Eye raised his head and snorted at the light wind blowing the noise up from the river through the low branches and long needles that scraped against his ears and poked at his crusted old eye-Kla-chink, Chink, Kla-chink!

Moonshine (five long winters back)

One-Eye looked up from the long dark pool. The full moon glowed back at him, turning the air around his body silver with a luminous flash that frosted the dark forest, casting long shadows in the white moonlit night. It was the strange howling that held his ears straight to the air. A strange, unfamiliar sound that stirred a restlessness. He stammered around in the warm mud, searching the area up the valley with his one good eye, turning his head with the echoes. The howling stopped, and another sound caught One-Eye's attention.

Looking down the valley now, he watched and listened as the sound took the shape of the familiar. It was the grunting and hissing of heavy breathing and the strain of two legs awkwardly working their way up through the dark woods that he knew well like any hot spring moose. And there was another sound too. A quiet panting and loping of padded feet falling on the worn trail. He snorted through the crust of mud that caked his nostrils, recognizing the smell. One-Eye shot over the pool's rim of boulders in a quick leap that landed him quietly in the shelter of a small fir thicket. He finished chewing the last bit of algae and listened, waiting for the footsteps and panting to appear over the crest of the hill.

The man appeared first out of the shadows of the cedar bottom below the pool and stood staring into the moonlit face of the steaming water. The black dog darted from the woods at his heels, panting, then lapping at the warm water. The man let his load down off his shoulders against a giant boulder. He rooted around in his pack and then quickly stripped down to the naked-white moonlight. He jumped into the pool with a wild groan that startled One-Eye back in the trees. He watched the man lean into the rocks, his body sending dark waves rolling out, disturbing the glowing eye of the moon on the pool's smooth surface. The man muttered something to the dog and then cracked a can of beer, pouring half of it into a dip in a rock. The dog growled low in his throat and began lapping at the little pool of beer, a red handkerchief tied around his neck dangled in his drink. The man set aside the can and opened up a bottle for himself. He took a long drink of whiskey through his thick, black beard.

The man lay out in the pool with the bottle propped up in the cool rocks. His hairy shoulders and neck looked like thick sheets of weathered cedar bark, his beard covered his face like ancient, matted deer moss. His eyes were set back deep in his head, black pools shaded by the untamed growth of his bearish brow. The dog finished his drink and growled in the direction of the bearded man. "Good shit, eh?" he growled back. He poured the rest of the can for the dog and took another long drink from his own bottle and sank back down again in the water.

One-Eye watched from the trees as the moon sunk lower into the sky until it disappeared behind the mountains across the valley. The empty cans lined up until both the dog and the black beard lay silent. One-Eye moved out slowly from his cover into the dark night and waited for something to stir. He took a few awkward steps in the direction of the pool and then stopped suddenly. He snorted at the night air, looking up at the sky with his good eye, remembering the old fear again.

Fourth of July

The young calf moose humped down the steep incline through the tangled masses of blackberry vines and thistle. He stopped at the edge of the brush, barely hesitating. He cleared the ditch in one movement that sent him trotting down the white-lined edge of the road. He stopped to listen to the screaming explosions. Fire and sparks exploded in red and blue across the fading twilight and the first evening stars. The moose cut across the highway and lumbered down the other side to the boulder-strewn riverbank. He could see the outline of the bridge up ahead through small clouds of sulfur smoke. He could hear children laughing and yelling between explosions. Bang! Whiiir-Bang! He could barely see the cabins set back from the river on the other side where dim fires were lined with smiling people cooking things and drinking. The moose could see down the river where it met up with the other river. He could smell the mixing waters of the two rivers beyond the bridge, where the waters widened and the deep, cool pools gave way to shallow crossings and sheltered banks of cedar and pine and the allure of thick green brush.

He sniffed at the water and took a drink. Someone around a drunken fire began singing, "ohhh-oh! Say can you seeeee!!!." Whiir-Bang! Bang! He stripped the leaves from some low growing brush with one jerk of his teeth. Chewing. Whiir-Bang! Bang! Bang! The young moose cocked his head to listen and watch. Whiir-Bang! Whiir-Bang! WHIIR-BANG!!! He was up the bank and across the highway running blind with fear. With one eye he could only see sparks, fire, red fear! The explosions and the laughter were drowned out by hooves clicking on pavement, then rock and soft forest floor. Then, finally, quiet, damp silence and nothing.

Moonshine

A half-ring of moonlight was still hanging over the valley wall to the west, lengthening the shadows of the trees where the moose stood silent, remembering. One-Eye hesitated then picked a quiet, sandy route through the rocks to the pool. He stood there in silence over the steaming water. The bearded man breathed deeply in his drunken sleep, still sprawled out in the hot pool. The dog wheezed and quietly growled over the two cans of beer bubbling in his head. One-Eye looked them both over with his good eye. The other eye, burned and crusted shut so many years back, was a constant pang of fear. WHIIR-BANG!

One-Eye took one last look around and stooped to investigate the half empty bottle. He snorted at the puddle of whiskey that had spilt where the dog had finished his beer. The strong, bitter smell burned his nostrils and made his good eye water. He licked at the liquor first, letting it trickle down his long throat slowly, and then began to lap it up in gulps. He finished the spilt whiskey and nuzzled at the empty bottle. One-Eye looked up at the snoring man and the dog and felt the old pang of fear well up from his eye. He lurched forward, clamoring into the brush with diminishing grace, knocking over rocks and splashing through small pools. He was looking straight ahead, struggling to make his way down to the creek bottom when he heard it again. The far-off, unfamiliar howling. It echoed off the mountains and down the valley. And with his buzzing moose ears, the howling seemed to fit there with the fir and the cedar and the wet, steaming rock. One-Eye listened and tried to place the new things, the whiskey and howling. The howling aroused a curious fear that kept him completely still. He knew the echoing howls somehow belonged there in the valley with the river and the rocks and the thick green brush.

The howling woke the dog first. He stiffened, his ear cocked straight like an antenna towards the direction of the fading sound. The bearded man woke then, choking on his own drunken nightmares. "Gawd damned Snake River jetboat sons uv.huh?.wolves?"

He looked down at the empty bottle of whiskey and scowled at the dog. He smelled the air suspiciously and eyed the fresh tracks in the mud. "Moose," he muttered through his matted beard. He lay naked under the stars listening to the night, quiet and soft, for a long time.

Sunrise (on the highway)

Chink! Chink! Kla-CHINK! Old One-Eye stepped out onto the old highway swaying slightly with the morning breeze. He followed the faded yellow lines down the highway towards the sound, watching through the milky haze that clouded his good eye. Kla-Chink! Kla-Chink! Chink! He looked up the valley, past the hills toward the pass where the strange sound was coming from. One-Eye weaved in and out of the big potholes in the road with his old, skinny legs. Each clicking step a painful effort.

Kla-Chink! Chink! Old One-Eye worked his way up off the highway into the cover of a willow thicket. He could barely see the pass below through the milky cloud of his good eye. Kla-Chink! Kla-Chink! And the strange sound was coming from the people there. Raising up picks and hammers. CHINK! KLA-CHINK! Coming down hard on the old highway. KLA-CHINK! CHINK! It had been so many long winters since he had seen a human. He snorted up at the wind with an aging curiosity.

A woman stood off away from the others closer to the moose in the brush, rolling a cigarette. She stood there leaning on her pick, shirtless like the others, with her hair pulled back in a long, sun-bleached ponytail. She looked up toward the crashing and snorting in the brush. "What's up there?" one of the men yelled over.

"Could be another griz," she shouted back.

The others looked up at the dark shape in the thicket. The tools stopped their work tearing up the old, fractured asphalt. The strong smell of the trapped soil beneath the paved mountain filled the air with the pungency of years of waiting. The moose lumbered unseen back down the other side towards the river. His hooves clanked over the hard pavement and the faded paint of forgotten words scrawled across the length of the highway: Humanism is Dead-Long Live Wilderness!

He paused briefly over the buckling graffito, his haggard haunches straining, and squeezed out a steaming, brown pile onto the cold, cracked asphalt. Old One-Eye shook the haunting flies from his ears and trotted off the highway, hurrying through the thick brush to the sweet, gurgling of rushing river water. He stopped on the other side of the river and stared up at the snow-tipped peaks. Back across the highway, he could hear the picks falling again behind him. KLA-CHINK! CHINK! KLA-CHINK!

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