​Leap of Faith 5
 
 
Synopsis: Enchanted by Izzy Harris, Washington State Trooper Jeremy Cross follows down the Seattle sinkhole when she and her father jump into 10,000 BCE. Love struck Muckleshoot Indian Jeremy Cross is heading south through what will be Washington State in 12,000-years.
 
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Jeremy Cross awoke with eyes slitted against the light of day. A deep breath through his nose didn’t detect any strong animal smell, except his own. He had been on the trail for a week and had slept in shelters erected by Gavin Harris for a few days, before losing the trail.
 
Sitting up, Jeremy checked his rifle and the revolver on loan from Sergeant James Royal. Jeremy had taken to using the bayonet to hold the rifle vertical and stuck into the ground. Good, no bugs had crawled into the bore. All six chambers of the .44 were filled with hard cast flat point bullets. He had only used one shot to take a Columbian Blacktail Deer.
 
He didn’t need the thermoelectric light on the rocket stove in daylight and brought his cell phone to full charge while heating a breakfast of minute rice and venison. He reviewed his pictures of the dryas tundra, musk oxen, various plants, short faced bear and mastodon he had encountered.
 
The path he followed west, today, may have been worn by elk. It was far narrower than the mastodon paths. The sun was still warming his back when he crested a coastal pass and saw the Pacific Ocean for the first time in this era. The vast expanse filled Jeremy with a sense of well-being after days with his vision closed in by trees.
 
The sun and tide were high by the time Jeremy reached the cliff tops overlooking the shore. Used to the groomed beaches of 2021, Jeremy’s eyes widened at the driftwood thicket below. Not one Japanese fishing float attracted his view. Gulls screeched overhead. A squadron of pelicans dive-bombed for fish just beyond the surf. Dark heads bobbed in the kelp but Jeremy didn’t spot any of the sea otters breaking open shellfish on their bellies.
 
Jeremy stayed to the cliff top as he ventured towards Los Angeles. At one point a thick stand of cypress blocked his path and all trails led up or down the mountain. He located a twenty-foot pole and trimmed it into a ‘Swede compass’. Going directly through the trees was difficult at times but the long pole wouldn’t bend to deviate from a straight course.
 
The sun and tide water were in the west when Jeremy found the place he wanted to descend. A stream had carved a defile into the cliff. Something had made a narrow trail that frequently crossed the stream. The low tide exposed a reef of rock as well as the mud bank deposited by the stream.
 
Jeremy deposited most of his gear above the high tide mark and made his way out onto the reef with his camp pot, knives and medic scissors. He had been told all seaweed was edible but had his preferences. He used the scissors to trim off sea lettuce and used his knife on a sea palm. He potted a feather boa kelp leaf for its saltiness. He left the red Turkish wash rag which was too sour and scratchy for his taste. When he had a full pot, he went back to the freshwater pond and rinsed his harvest before laying it on a rock to dry.
 
On his next trip, he used the abalone knife to harvest shellfish as it was late in the year and the risk of red tide algae poisoning was low. Barnacles were hard to harvest but taste like lobster, so worth the effort.
 
The sea and wind had carved a respectable cave into the sandstone cliff so Jeremy settled in for the night. The sand floor was easy on his back. A storm came in well after midnight. The wind roared and was whipping foam from the whitecaps even into Jeremy’s cave. He may have said a bad word at having his dream interrupted. Using his cell phone as a light revealed waves rolling past the high tide mark and ever higher towards the entrance to his cave.
 
Jeremy scrambled to lace his boots and pack his gear before it was soaked by the rising water. The defile and path to the cliff top was only 300-yards distant but had a 100-yard stretch already under water. Crap. He couldn’t hold the cell phone, his spear and stabilize his rifle while crossing the surf.
 
Jeremy took off his packs and secured his rifle with the compression straps on the side of the larger, cobalt, pack. The cell phone got secured into a flap pocket and all buttons, flaps, snaps and straps were secured. He would get just as wet waiting around and could end up washed out to sea in the dark. A headlamp replaced the cell phone for illumination and Jeremy set out. The cell phone battery was rechargeable with the rocket stove. The lithium batteries in the headlamp had no replacements in this era.
 
The wet sand was actually easier going than it had been when dry. Jeremy kept one hand on the cliff, when he could and one hand on his spear. The wind kept blowing spray onto his glasses so he secured them in a breast pocket. All was okay until he reached the low spot.
 
The water gradually deepened from his ankles to his calves and he stumbled when he stepped unexpectedly into a hole more than knee deep. The waves tried to knock him over towards the cliff and often carried debris. Jeremy turned his head frequently to track the waves and brace for them but had to split his attention forward, probing with his fire-hardened wooden spear.
 
The nasty wave ricocheted off the cliff behind Jeremy and knocked him flat into the icy brine. In moments, the water swirled back towards the Pacific with a terrific undertow. Jeremy was spun like dirty laundry and there was no daylight to give him any idea of up. He struggled to get his second hand on the spear. Yes!
 
Air in the larger backpack floated him face down and Jeremy felt sand flowing with his feet over a sand bar and back into the sea. His diaphragm convulsed trying to suck in air past his sealed lips. Oriented now, Jeremy plunged down with the spear and bent his legs down.
 
The spear stuck in the sand first and was jerk out of Jeremy’s hands. It had done its job, though, and Jeremy’s feet touched into the racing bottom. The sand raced seaward around Jeremy’s boots and there was every chance he would lose his footing, again, and be swept to sea. Then, another wave struck and propelled Jeremy cliffward so he took steps toward the cliff and the defile leading away. Another wave pulsed at Jeremy and he felt something strike his legs. His spear! He ducked to grab it and almost lost his balance but managed to snag it before it left for China.
 
It started raining before Jeremy made it to the defile. Now it was a race to the top before the stream swelled enough to wash him down like the teensy weensy spider.
 
The stream grew deeper every minute but burdened with two backpacks Jeremy couldn’t run up to the top of the cliff. He had to spot the footholds with the headlamp and remember where they were when they disappeared under the red mountain rescue pack on his front. He fell heavily when his foot slipped on a muddy rock. A sharp stick, or root, punched into his left palm. He cried out. Damn it hurt.
 
Jeremy didn’t fall again, but had several near accidents with loose rocks and shrubs betraying him. There was a medium size tree or large shrub that promised some protection from the rain. The lower limbs brushed the ground and didn’t actually give adequate room for Jeremy and his packs. A few minutes with the pack saw solved that problem and the cut limbs provided a seat off the cold soil.
 
Jeremy was soaked and frozen from his midnight swim. Every limb was shaking and his teeth chattered. Eating might help. Cold cooked venison, mushrooms and seaweed helped fill his stomach. Then he did what he could for the wound in his hand. First he washed it with clean water. Then he pushed triple anti-biotic salve into the wound and topped it with a gauze pad and waterproof tape. The ointment had lidocaine but he finished with 600 mg of ibuprofen.
 
Jeremy felt like he had just nodded off when daylight and the calls of seabirds woke him. With no dry wood on top of the cliff, he used a heat tab to make coffee. More deer meat and some of the dried seaweed made his breakfast.
 
Then he used his spear to knock off as much water from the tree as he could and spread his wet clothing to dry. The sunshine was most welcome, though the sea breeze made goosebumps. All the same he gave himself a spit-bath with a wash cloth and micro-fiber towel. His beard was spotty, at best. He only had the disposable razor from the rescue bag, meant to prepare wounds for sutures. He smiled. He would save the razor for when he caught up with Izzy.