Polum Chill

Our first tale tonight comes from author Jeff Harton, entitled Leave Your Flashlights at Home.

I've been a national park ranger for close to two decades.

Protocols have changed a lot in that time.

I write this just to try to keep people safe for the next time you venture to the big outdoors.

Let me tell you about the last park I worked.

I can't be too specific about the location for my job's sake.

Anyway, we had clusters of campsites that we rotated annually.

The idea was to prevent one group from getting overused and worn down, let nature regrow a little bit.

The winter had just passed, and our big summer season was a few months away.

I'm sent out to check the suitability of the campsites to decide which ones need time to recover and which ones we can open up.

Winters here are cold.

Not too many people camped during the winter, aside from rugged masochists and Boy Scout troops led by people who believe they are rugged masochists.

I didn't expect to find much out of the ordinary.

The first site was clear and ready to go.

As I'm trekking to the next site, I see what looks like some debris and junk down a ways in a river valley.

Looks like some jackasses set up an unauthorized camp down there.

Usually when that happens, I leave garbage and smoldering fires.

This is going to be a pain to clear up.

I approach, seeing the telltale wreckage of what must have been one hell of a party.

Crap scattered everywhere, the skeleton of tents still raised up, and blood.