Waking alone in the wilderness at night is the least of James' worries. He has little to no survival skills, and yet needs to figure out where he is, and how to get out. In addition to every possible obstacle trying to kill him, nothing in the world James has found himself in seems to be "quite right." Why is he here, and how did he get to this place?
In an unknown time where nothing seems to make sense, James has to find a way not only to survive, but to find his way home from wherever (and whenever) he is. Retreating into his own mind or over-analyzing the situation won't save him from the elements, predators, and everything else this place can throw at him.
Waking alone in the wilderness at night is the least of James' worries. He has little to no survival skills, and yet needs to figure out where he is, and how to get out. In addition to every possible obstacle trying to kill him, nothing in the world James has found himself in seems to be "quite right." Why is he here, and how did he get to this place?
In an unknown time where nothing seems to make sense, James has to find a way not only to survive, but to find his way home from wherever (and whenever) he is. Retreating into his own mind or over-analyzing the situation won't save him from the elements, predators, and everything else this place can throw at him.
James was no stranger to being in the woods. He was also by no means an expert or anything. He hadnât been a boy scout, or gone through any formal training. Nothing like that. But growing up in the Pacific Northwest, heâd spent a lot of time hiking, enjoying the scenery, and going on the occasional camping trip with friends (albeit rarely âroughing itâ). No, being out here wasnât the problem (even at night). The problem was, why was he out here, and how did he get wherever he was?
It had been an unusually difficult day at work. He spent much of his time on conference calls, peppered with entering data into spreadsheets, and building presentations on a few projects he had going. There were, however, a few unexpected fires he had to put out. Dealing with a customer complaint, a late shipment, and so-on. By the time he got home, it was apparently written all over his face. His wife Rachel had immediately asked, âEarly to bed tonight?â
âIs it that obvious?â
âYeah, and I heard you laying there with your eyes open last night. I figured you couldnât fall asleep again.â
âYou know me too well,â he said. A typical evening ensued. After dinner and getting the kids to bed, he tried to settle on the couch with Rachel for a little while to wind-down. It hadnât taken long for his eyes to burn and get heavy, and they both decided to call it a night. The last thing he remembered was resting his head on the pillow, and feeling the heavy bed coverings on his body. They smothered him but were still cool because heâd just lain down. That was the sweet spot this time of year. He remembered thinking, âI hope I can fall asleep and stay asleep tonightâ and that was it.
The next thing he knew, he was here. In the woods, in the middle of the night, and no idea where. He was on what appeared to be a game trail-certainly not an established path the likes of which you could find winding all over the Cascade mountain range. The ground sloped down to his right, and upward to his left, with the trail running largely perpendicular to the angle of the hill. The area was familiar. Not necessarily because he knew where he was and that heâd been there before, but because it had the telltale signs of the area he had grown up in. Tall fir trees, intermingled with cedar, larch, oak, maple, aspen and cottonwood. The ground was the typical soft loam he was accustomed to, with tree roots weaving throughout. It was dark, and the night was a little overcast, so the shadows were limited and he couldnât see far, but he could just make out occasional bumps and outcroppings of the volcanic basalt he knew all too well.
His âoutdoor trainingâ was very limited. He had taken âSurvival Scienceâ in middle school where heâd learned to identify easily flammable materials and light fires, and use a compass. He didnât, however, have any matches, nor did he have a compass. He was more likely to lean on the knowledge heâd gained from watching those survival shows on TV he and Rachel liked than anything heâd learned all those years ago in the easy A elective. Unfortunately, all he had were the âclothes on his back,â and a tactical backpack. James slipped it off to check its contents. The backpack itself was rugged, and the manner of its multiple pouches left it at least partially water resistant. In it he found a hydro flask style water bottle that was only about half full, what appeared to be a few boxes worth of energy bars (James had always been known to over-pack) and a light jacket.
James didnât know where he was or how he got there, but he DID know that he needed to make a decision. If he headed uphill, he may be able to get a clear vantage point and identify where he was and even see signs of people. The problem with that was, he didnât know where he was, and didnât have much to sustain him. If he expended too much energy climbing, it may mean bad news later on if he was out here for too long. He didnât want to expend calories or get dehydrated working towards a goal that may not even pay-off. He did remember that downhill was a good option, though. Did he learn that from middle school, or in a book he read? He wasnât sure. Downhill will lead to water. When he hits water, no matter how small, it will lead to larger water, and eventually to a river. If he followed water or a river long enough, he would find people. He headed downhill.
He tried to head 90 degrees from his starting position, hoping that if he needed to come back it wouldnât be hard to find his starting point. Granted, in the dark, with low light, and beginning on nothing but a break in the underbrush, he wasnât sure it was all that necessary for him to find his way back. James was still relatively certain he was not too far from home, at least in a grand geographical sense. He had hiked in Forest Park and around Washington Park and the Hoyt Arboretum enough to know he wasnât in the West Hills, so he wasnât too close to Portland, but definitely was in the region. Heâd been all over the western United States, and had hiked in most of it. He had hiked throughout California in the Sierra Nevadaâs, Yosemite, and even up north near the Oregon border in and around the Redwoods. Although some of the topography was similar, there were subtle but distinct differences. Particularly in climate, geology, and fauna. For the same reasons he knew he wasnât on the Olympic peninsula or even north of Seattle (and certainly not anywhere near the ocean, so that ruled out the coast range and anywhere near Puget Sound). Heâd hiked the desert Southwest in Arizona, Nevada and New Mexico, as well as parts of Wyoming, Montana, and Idaho. All different. He contemplated these things as he made his way down.
Then he heard a waterfall. It wasnât a large one, but a recognizable sound, nonetheless. It was off to his right as he was heading downhill. He didnât know if it was in the correct direction toward civilization, or away from it. Given his goal was to head down, if that water was going to be of any value to him, he would meet up with it eventually downhill toward his goal anyway. He needed to conserve time and energy, so no need to go chasing waterfalls. James laughed to himself. Rachel and the kids always thought his puns and dumb dad jokes were stupid, but for some reason he would throw them out when the time arose anyway. No need to stop now, even if it was only to himself.
At times he found himself having to make his way around steep embankments, rocky outcroppings, or downed trees, so the going was slow. Especially in the dark and with no trail, he had to be careful not to twist an ankle or blow out a knee. Better slow and safe than hurt and stuck. He eventually did meet up with the stream that must have been the run-out from the waterfall he had heard earlier. It was little more than a creek. Now that he found it, he began to follow it, hoping it would lead to some sort of civilization (or at least some campers with a phone). The hill was steep, and still made of the jagged rock, so the stream wound around, occasionally becoming deep and slow-moving, and at other times full of rapids. At a few points it even sped-up where, over the eons it had been there, it had only been able to carve a narrow channel in the tough igneous rock. Unfortunately, what made for beautiful scenery also made for a difficult and dangerous way out.
James began to hear the sound of roaring water. As he drew near, he knew what he would find. While the volume of water going over the edge wasnât terribly great, the drop more than made up for it. This wasnât going to be an easy workaround. James could barely make out his surroundings, let alone easily find a safe way down or around. He was wearing nothing more than trail pants, a T-Shirt and some hiking boots. This was comfortable and his boots were holding up well, but it didnât offer a lot of protection from a fall or even a slide over rocks. âCâmon, Jimbo,â he thought, âyou gotta do something.â Ultimately, he decided the best route was to make his way around the falls and the pool below, grabbing onto tree limbs whenever possible to aid in his footing and balance. When he came to what appeared to be a landslide that blocked any forward progress in that direction, he realized he was just going to have to go down.
He carefully began his descent, trying to maintain as many points of contact as he could. There were limbs and tree roots available for him to grasp, so whenever possible, he tried to take a hold of those with at least one of his hands in case rocks gave-way. The slope was made up of packed clay held together with tree roots, intermixed with river rock, and sitting upon the volcanic bedrock of the area. There were places where the footing was great and the climb down easy, and spots where he was sure the whole side was going to fall down the full 50-foot drop and take him with it. It was about twenty feet from the bottom that the cliffside curved in where it had been dug out from the erosion of the waterfall and time. At his vantage point, and with the low light, James had no idea. He had gotten too confident and was moving too fast. He hadnât firmly grabbed a root in a while, and when he stepped down, there was nothing there but thin air.
James had never had a heart attack before. He had always done his best to stay in relatively OK shape (although it was becoming more and more of a losing battle the older he got). However, when the world disappeared below him and he experienced brief weightlessness, he was pretty sure this is what a heart attack felt like (or at least what it would take to precipitate one). He hit the frigid water with a tremendous splash. He fell without warning-no time to prepare, to orient his body to minimize any potential problems. The inward swing had left him falling blindly backwards, unaware of the distance to the bottom, and hitting the water flat on his back. This may have been a blessing in disguise. Had he gone in feet-first, he likely would have broken some bones from impacting the rocks below the water that was only about five feet deep. The back flop dispersed his weight and slowed his descent through the water. He still hit the collected large river rocks at the bottom of the pool, but it was minimized by the backpack he was wearing and his horizontal (and very ungraceful) entry. It was enough to knock the wind out of him, though.
Between his scream of surprise on the way down, the explosion of water upon impact, and his gasps for air after surfacing, he was pretty sure if there was anyone in the vicinity, they were awake now. Unfortunately, with the exception of some rustling in the brush and the gentle breeze through the boughs, there was no sound. He was utterly alone. And now he was soaking wet.
It was the kind of thing where, had it happened on one of their family hikes, he would have made light of it, pretending to Rachel and the kids (and convincing no one) that heâd done it on purpose to be funny. He would have yelled something like, âNow thatâs what I call refreshing!â as he came out of the water. Rachel would have scolded him for not being careful enough and almost dying (again), but then make fun of him about it for years to come. Today, the only one around to call him a moron was himself, and the stakes were way too high to be making mistakes like this. James still wasnât ready to tackle the howâs and whyâs of him being here, but the gravity of the situation wasnât lost on him. He needed to survive, he needed to get home. Right now his lack of recent memory, why he was alone, or how heâd gotten wherever this was currently sat firmly at the bottom of a growing list of things he needed to worry about.
Thankfully, once he was able to regain his breath, he concluded the only thing he hurt was his pride (and given that nobody saw it, that still remained relatively intact). He thought, âif someone falls in the woods and nobody is there to hear itâŚShut up James.â He always seemed to be thinking about several things at once, and that included a running dialog with himself trying to make jokes at the wrong times. He realized it was just his way of coping with a pretty crazy situation, but it was still a habit that he wished he didnât have.
Thankfully, the temperatures were not cold. It was summer, so he was still comfortable wet as long as he was moving. The big problem right now was that his shoes and socks were wet, and if he wasnât careful, he could get blisters. He pulled them off, and wrung the socks out as best he could. The boots and socks were made for hiking in this environment, and would wick water relatively well, so he figured he should be OK, but he watched his pace and was sure to pay attention and be aware of not just his surroundings, but of his own body and its limitations. He continued to follow the stream, trying to decide if it was better to stay on the bank where there was less growth overhead, but loose footing, or to go several feet away where he had to deal with more brush. He opted for the latter, but made sure he kept the stream in view.
It wasnât long before the sun began to rise, and that is when he also noticed a change in the trees. The evergreens were giving way more to deciduous trees and the ferns and other underbrush began to thin and show glimpses of grass. He was definitely nearing a larger body of water. He noticed a few deer not too far away as he made his way through the dense foliage. He found it odd at how undisturbed they were. Normally you might catch a glimpse, and on rare occasions could get close, but they tended to be skittish and would always take off. These deer looked at him as if they had never seen a person before. Sure, there were places where these types of animals might have no contact with humans, but heâd never seen a situation like this before. They just watched as he moved along, going back to grazing when they concluded he was leaving and wouldnât be something they needed to worry about.
He walked a bit farther through more trees, and around several large boulders, and found himself looking at a large beach of sand and river rock dotted with areas of grass and smaller vegetation. Beyond that was a great river. He was positive it was the Columbia, and that this was the Columbia River Gorge. From this point, out in the open, he could see the clear and evident cliffs behind him and on the other side of the river. The problem was it wasnât The Gorge he knew. The vast river was very wide here, but had pockets of rapids. He recalled seeing old pictures from before the Bonneville Dam went in, and that the Columbia, while still wide, was a much wilder river. This was before the dam had backed it up and deepened it in the 1930âs through the late 1950âs when the Bonneville Rapids were submerged. He remembered learning about Lewis and Clark in school and how they had to pull their rafts and canoes out often and portage to go around the treacherous water. This was the Columbia River he was seeing. What it would have looked like before the dams went in. Earlier than the 50âs though. Earlier even than the 30âs when the dams began being built on the mighty river. This river was untamed. It was then that it also dawned on him that where he was standing should be a freeway. I-84 to be exact. He also didnât see railroad tracks, on this or the Washington side. He didnât even see the old highway here or the two-lane SR-14 on the far side. There was no sign of civilization, not even of Native Americans, who populated the area densely. He could see the ancient Bonneville landslide, where the town of Stevenson and Skamania Lodge would be. Not there. There was no sign of the town of Cascade Locks. This was where the Pacific Crest Trail crossed the Columbia. At the Bridge of the Gods. There was no bridge. No modern steel structure anyway, just hints at what was boulders in the river as a result of the slide from thousands of years ago.
He knew The Gorge itself was created during glacial floods. Largely Lake Missoula, and as it drained it flowed across what was now Northern Idaho and Eastern Washington, carrying water, ice, boulders, and grabbing topsoil before it entered the Columbia River and flowed downstream. These elements, over the course of several floods, over thousands and thousands of years, had carved The Gorge as it drove itâs way through the Cascade Mountain Range and plowed through the plateau created by molten volcanic rock so long ago. It wound its way between Mt. Hood on the Oregon side, and Mt. Adams on the Washington side, with Mt. St. Helens in the distance, He could see all of those now. Mt. St, Helens, however had a point at its peak, and appeared to be taller than the one he knew. The one he knew erupted in 1980, half the mountain now a crater after it blew ash into the stratosphere and the ensuing explosion, landslides, and pyroclastic flow had taken much of the mountain down.
No dams. No rapids. Intact mountains. No people. Something was off, and not just the past. The timeline was inaccurate altogether for any period in history. How was he supposed to get home if the world was out of order? Was there even a home anymore?
Are dreams more than a series of thoughts, images, and sensations that occur during sleep? Do dreams bubble to the surface of our mind with messages that would otherwise elude us during waking hours? What do dreams tell us about ourselves and the world we live in? Chris Dirksen explores these questions and other components of the human experience in his action/adventure novel, In Dreams of Sleep.
James goes to sleep one night and wakes up in the wild and wooded expanses of the rugged Pacific Northwest. He has no clue where he is or how he got there. As James tries to get his bearings and hikes to civilization, he slowly realizes that not only are his physical surroundings unfamiliar, but so is the time frame. Is he in the past, present, or future? Is he dreaming, or has James stumbled into some sort of âalternate universeâ?
Whatever the case, James is faced with major survival challenges. These include a roaming wolf pack, bears, dehydration, and the elements. Indeed, his lack of skill and experience in the wilderness puts his chances of survival at âslim to none.â
As James continues doggedly on, he conducts inner monologues or âpersonal fablesâ in order to cope with the situation. He realizes he developed this ability to create a world in his mind as a child. When he was young, James' mind âbecame a place where he could retreat to safety and be whatever and wherever he wanted.â So thatâs what he does in the wilderness.
Meanwhile, flashbacks from Jamesâ past bubble to the surface from some subterranean well of memory.
In Chapter 13 weâre suddenly back in Jackâs work world. Heâs battling a system outage and IT. A serious car accident has trapped James in his car. Then he âwakes upâ in the woods to find a gray wolf tugging on his foot.
There are also memories of his neighbor, Ricky. They grow up and drift apart. Years later, James wonders what happened to Ricky. He eventually finds out his friend died in a horrific auto accident. A similar story unfolds with Jamesâ memory of a high school friend, Carrie. Sheâs part of his high school clique. Carrie doesnât show up for school one day and nobodyâs seen her since. What happened to her?
Why these characters are introduced and how they propel the story forward may elude some readers. And whatâs up with the nefarious wood nymph-ish "Queen"? She follows James for a few chapters, turns into a mountain lion to stave off an imminent wolf attack, and then poof! Sayonara, baby! Thereâs also a meteorite. An earthquake. Torrential rain and a mudslide.
The apparent lack of a clear unifying theme may trouble some readers. Ditto the un-numbered pages. The story meanders quite a bit as James treks across the Pacific Northwest in search of civilization and rescue. The abrupt ending in Chapter 32 may give some readers whiplash.
Still, this is a worthwhile read. Dreams may shine best when describing the multitudinous natural wonders of the Pacific Northwest, including flora and fauna and weather. Outdoor lovers will relate.
In Dreams of Sleep isn't exactly A Walk in the Woods. But patient readers will be rewarded with an absorbing and interesting read about the human psyche, memories, and dreams as they're explored amid the feral beauty of the Pacific Northwest.Â