Rogers Place, a bit of Glencliff heaven
Feral Snowman, DNA and Roger (trail angel).
Roger was one of those folks along trail who really enjoyed hiker company. He was clearly wealthy, lived by himself on a beautiful piece of property near Glencliff, with a spectacular outbuilding that had essentially been made into a shrine for both Sam Adams of Founding Fathers fame, and the Trail.
Feral Snowman and I were offered a lift from the trailhead. That evening, Feral Snowman cooked up a fabulous dinner with scallops, shrimp and tortillini in a citris sauce. It was the most formal dinner I had of the hike. Conversation wandered from trail tale to trail tale, the news (most all of us had come to despise O.J. Simpson simply for the obvious spectacle of crime noir life and death his case had crafted).
I was reluctant to mention what I was beginning to consider as a hallucination that afternoon. But when it was my turn for sharing stories, I didn't get halfway into my description before Roger became very excited, interrupting me, saying, 'You saw a catamount!'.
'I saw a catawhat?'
'A Catamount. A mountain lion. A cougar.'
'Not up here -- all the big cats are gone, aren't they?' There was a wolf killed in Maine last summer, but beyond the Florida Panther, I thought we had to go to Colorado for any big cats. I had seen tracks of one while camping near Telluride last summer. I finished my description of the creature to Snowman and Roger.
'None have been killed, but people see them. Most swear it wasn't a dog, or a wolf. I hear about them a few times a year.'
I was confused. I somewhat doubted myself even when telling the story, but I knew I saw something. Now, I wasn't the apex of the food chain out there - some specter creature might be wondering if indeed I tasted like chicken.