Goddess

About a block in we turned into a general store. About half the store was a grocery store, and the other half was cluttered with about every supply you could imagine. Chelsea bought a variety of vegetables and dry foods, and then went to the meat counter. There I saw a wide selection of high quality meats and fish. The four footed types, Chelsea said, came mostly from their farm. She selected some beautiful porterhouse steaks and some lamb chops. She asked the man behind the counter to pack the perishables in the cooler with ice, and said we would be back later to pick everything up.

Then we headed out of the store and down the street. About a block and a half down we turned into a men's clothing store. There Chelsea bought me jeans and a pair of cowboy boots that fit me perfectly. I felt a little self conscious about the boots, since I had never worn a pair of cowboy boots before. But Chelsea assured me that I would get used to it. They were surprisingly comfortable and I had visions of dancing in a western bar with Chelsea when we got back to school.

Next she found a long sleeved but lightweight western shirt, and a down vest. She topped it off with a fedora. By then I was starting to feel like Indiana Jones or something. She asked the sales clerk to bag it up, except for the fedora which she put playfully on my head. I got back into my sailing clothes, and we continued up the street to the edge of town.

There we stopped at a tiny cottage where she knocked on the door. A little old lady answered and cried out "Missy!" Chelsea jumped into her arms and they hugged for a long time like lost souls. When they broke their embrace Chelsea introduced her nanny. She said that her Dad had bought her the cottage when Chelsea was old enough to not require supervision.

After her visit we headed back to the general store. The manager called the checkout boy to take our things down to the boat. He stowed our things below decks, and wished us well.

Chelsea asked me to raise the sails since she was getting tired. By then I had watched her enough times to do it without incident. She asked me to untie the stern and then the bow and give the bow a little push away from the dock as I hopped aboard. The wind had stiffened considerably, and the boat moved more quickly than I expected. I barely made it aboard before we were underway. None-the-less she gave me a well done.

With a stiff breeze and no real chop on the lake the boat flew through the water on a close reach. The bow made a continuous hissing noise as it cut through the water. She told me I had better stow the fedora if I didn't want to give it a premature bath in the drink. Before we reached the cottage the rigging was singing like a musical instrument.

When the cottage came into view Chelsea tightened up the sails and steered towards the windward side of the lake which was pretty narrow at that point. She asked me to go forward and prepare to drop the jib, and get the bow painter ready. She had to explain that the bow painter was the line that tied the bow of the boat to the dock. I got that sorted out and she told me to drop the jib. By that time we were only about a hundred yards from the dock near the shore of the lake.

She told me to stand on the bow with the bow painter as she turned the boat down wind and the boat went screaming past the end of the dock about fifty feet away. As soon as we passed the dock she yelled, "helms a lee," and spun the wheel fast towards the dock and pulled in the main sail. The boat heeled over hard, nearly throwing me into the water. She laughed hysterically as she watched me trying to hold my footing. As she finished a hard U-turn, the main sail luffed, and almost instantly brought the boat to a dead stop with the bow right at the dock. She yelled for me to jump off and tie the bow painter to the nearest cleat, which I did.

Then she threw me the stern painter and told me to pull the stern in to the dock and tie it to the other cleat. Meanwhile she controlled the main sail so it wouldn't catch the wind. She hopped off the boat and retied the bow and stern in a much more seaman-like fashion than I did. She supervised the removal and stowing of the sails and all of the other details of tying up the boat at the dock. We brought up our purchases, and she locked the access hatch shut.

Chelsea printed a checklist from the house computer, and scurried around the house assembling things that she put near the front door. She packed everything in bags from the checklist. When she was done she had a half dozen bags stuffed full of gear.

Then she went into the office and came out with a Winchester lever action rifle and a box of bullets. She opened up the action and checked down the barrel holding it up to the light. Then she took it out on the porch and cycled some cartridges through it, and dry fired it with a cartridge she called a snap cap. She fully loaded the weapon and took it and the box of ammo back to the office.

That evening both of us were dead tired, so we ate a light dinner, cleaned up and went to bed. I tried to start something, but she laughed and told me that I was a horny, just like all men. I did my best to start something, but fell asleep before I got very far. I was dead to the world until .... ....

"You might as well expect the rivers to run backward as that any man who was born free should be contented to be penned up and denied liberty to go where he pleases." ― Chief Joseph, Nez Perce (Nimiputimt)

Five AM in the morning. I heard pots and pans banging. Chelsea was deliberately making a lot of noise with the bedroom door open to get my adrenaline going. She was fully dressed and bright eyed; dressed in her western clothes. She told me breakfast was almost ready, and to shower and get my new clothes on; "Quickly Doode." Gary will be here soon.

When I came out of the bedroom she had just set breakfast on the kitchen table. We sat down and ate quickly. It was just after six AM when Gary pulled his big Ford pickup truck behind the cottage with a horse trailer in tow.

Chelsea asked me to clean up the breakfast dishes as she hurried out to meet Gary. By the time I got outside, the horses were tied up to a hitching rail beside the house, and Gary and Chelsea were loading the pack horse. There was a pack saddle with huge canvass bags attached. They were loading gear in both sides being careful to keep the weight evenly distributed. There was even a cooler with perishables, although it was smaller than the one we took on the boat.

When they were done Gary set about lacing up the bags, and finished by tying a tarp over the top of the whole thing. Chelsea went inside and got the Winchester and ammo. She checked the safety and dropped it into the scabbard, closing a weather protector over the top. She dropped the ammo box into one of the saddle bags.

There was still a bunch of stuff by the front door, like canteens knives jackets, and rain gear. She brought those out and distributed them between the saddle horses. She told me to get my hat, and she headed into the house and came back wearing a sexy looking cowgirl hat.

Gary asked where we were headed. Chelsea said we were headed up the ridge at Pilot Knob and over to the old Ouachita Indian campground. Gary told her to just leave the horses in the dairy meadow when we get back, and leave the saddles over the hitching rail. Chelsea saluted him with a touch of her brim and he set about getting ready to leave.

Chelsea untied the pack horse and tied the leader to her saddle. Then she helped me get saddled up, and gave me a few pointers on holding the reins and controlling my horse. Then she untied her horse, pulled the slack out of her reins around the saddle horn, and swung up into the saddle in one fluid motion.

She adjusted her reigns and her hat. "Ready?" she turned to me and said. Then she tapped her horse lightly with her feet and made a clicking noise. The horses took off at a brisk walk down the side of the house and around the corner. We rode across the back lot towards the woods.

As we entered the woods we started up a gradual incline on a well used trail. The horses slowed to a walk. I was relieved. I found the short ride from the house jarring, although Chelsea's horse seemed more fluid, almost cat like. In the hundred yard ride I had already started to worry about the condition of my butt by the end of the ride.

As if she could read my thoughts, she said, "You should find this more comfortable. Gary brought me the walker, but you have a quarter-horse." Neither of us seemed to have anything more to say, so we settled in for a long ride at a diagonal up the ridge. The woods opened up along the edges occasionally, affording glimpses of well manicured farm land below.

When we reached the top of the ridge the woods opened up. We were looking down on a wide valley, neatly checker-boarded with crops and grazing pastures that were populated with very healthy looking Herford cattle. In the center of the valley was a large complex of barns and hay storage shelters. Chelsea commented that all of it belongs to her family, and that was the reason she was majoring in business and finance at LSU. She said that when she finished her double major, she would probably get her masters at Texas A&M.

We continued down the other side of the ridge in the same general direction with a few switchbacks. At the last switchback there was a spring in the hillside. The spring had been capped, and there was a pipe that ran continuously into a concrete watering trough. Squirrels headed for the woods as we approached. We stood down and let the horses drink their fill.

After a few minutes we saddled up and rode the last little way down to the valley. We followed trails and roads that skirted the edges of fields until we arrived at the barnyard of the big complex. As soon as we rode in, several people shouted greetings to Chelsea. We rode over to a water trough next to a windmill. This time Chelsea didn't dismount she just let the horses drink a little while as she waited. Peter came out and said, hi; then groused a little bit about Gary letting his horses graze in the dairy meadow. Chelsea made no comment, just wished him a nice day, and we rode out of the barnyard to continue across the valley.

Before long I realized that we were coming up on a fast moving highway. It must have been the one that we took on the drive up from LSU. She reined in about a quarter of a mile from the highway, and lectured me about not letting my horse enter the highway until she did. Then I was to keep my horse moving and stay right behind her. I told her that was no problem, as I had visions of becoming a giant man-horse road pizza.

We crossed the road without incident and after crossing a creek, soon arrived at the edge of the woods where the trail headed up again. This trail was a good deal steeper than the previous one. There were lots of switchbacks, and the horses frequently breathed hard although they barely slowed down.

In a little over an hour we made the ridge. We were treated by a vast panorama of forest that stretched as far as the eye could see. Chelsea turned her horse up the ridge and we rode east on the gently sloping ridge. At that point I felt like we were really in the middle of nowhere, but Chelsea seemed to be unbothered. A little bit to the north, and far ahead, I could see a large mountain rising out of the valley. It seemed to be connected by a saddle to the ridge we were riding on. Chelsea said we were headed down to the base of the mountain.

After a while the ridge trail leveled out and then headed down slightly. The morning chill had worn off, and it was starting to get uncomfortably warm. Chelsea wrapped a bandana around her neck, and I ditched my vest into one of the saddle bags.

We rode for about another half hour along the ridge. Then Chelsea turned off on a side trail that went down much more steeply along the north side of the ridge. This trail was much narrower and the slope was heavily forested. We had to dodge overhanging branches and go around frequent obstructions in the trail. On the plus side the temperature dropped about ten degrees within a few minutes.

We rode generally north east down the slope with frequent switchbacks. Eventually we leveled out near the bottom of the slope. I got the feeling that we were in a valley near water. Although you couldn't see very far through the heavy forest . Chelsea pointed out poison ivy in its various forms and told me to stay away from it.

It was about one thirty in the afternoon when I sensed that we were gradually turning towards the left. We came to a creek that we crossed, and rode up the other bank. As soon as we crested the poison ivy infested bank, we were greeted by a meadow with a huge rock outcrop at the far end.

Chelsea said that this was the headwaters of the creek. We rode around the edge of the meadow, crossing frequent rivulets that flowed down the bank to the creek. When we got to the rock outcrop there was a well established camp ground with fire rings and a big metal box near the entrance.

There wasn't another soul anywhere so we had the place to ourselves. Chelsea said that you could get here in about a half an hour from the other side of the mountain, but riding in on horseback was a lot more fun.

We tied the horses to a hitching rail at the metal box and we unloaded all of the food into it. We saddled up and Chelsea led us to a campsite under a huge rock overhang at the base of the outcrop. She tied up the horses and we unloaded all of the gear and saddles at the campsite.

Then she changed the horses' bridles to halters and tied their front legs together with a short length of rope, and turned them loose to wander.

She got out a can of Off insect repellent, and sprayed me down. Then I did the same for her. She got out a hatchet, a saw , and a big knife. She gave me the saw and told me to keep the blade pointed away from us. In about a half an hour we had enough firewood to last the night plus some. Then we went down to the creek where we cut massive quantities of willow branches with the leaves attached.

Then she set about camp setting up the tent and putting everything in its place. The cooking utensils and dishes ended up next to a fire pit in a bowl shaped depression that had natural seating on big boulders. The fire wood was neatly stacked with the willow branches near the fire pit.

I was starting to feel famished, since it was mid afternoon, and we hadn't had lunch. She acknowledged that we should have stopped back on the ridge for lunch. But it was too late now, so she said we should hurry up and get camp set up and have an early dinner. We rolled out our sleeping bags and put everything in the tent that made sense.

We started a fire in the pit. Then walked back down to the metal box, she called it a bear box, and got out dinner. She pulled out two large potatoes and told me to take them down to the creek and cover them with a good layer of mud. I thought that was strange, but didn't want to appear stupid, so I went down to the creek and found a place where a meadow rivulet had made a big muddy patch and rolled them around in the mud. I set them aside on a rock and washed my hands in the creek. Then I carried them back to the fire carrying them with two fingers and trying not to fall and bust my ass getting up the stream bank.

When I got there she looked at my handy work and told me to set them on a rock next to the fire. Then she gave me a bucket and asked me to go fill it with clean water. She went back to chopping green beans and onions into a cast iron skillet.

When I got back the fire had burned way down, and there was a bed of embers in the pit. She told me to drop the potatoes in the coals and cover them up. Then she told me to toss some more small dry sticks on top. We dragged over a big heavy metal grate and dropped it over the fire pit. By that time she had finished seasoning the steaks with salt and pepper. She got out an old coffee pot and filled it with water from the bucket, and threw in some coffee grounds. Then she set it on the edge of the fire grate.

We sat back and enjoyed the fire for a while. Then she got up and put the steaks on a plate, and cut off some fat from the steaks, and put it in the fry pan with the vegetables. She set the fry pan on the grate and stirred it with her knife until it started making sizzling noises. Then we sat back and enjoyed the fire some more. After while she moved the fry pan to the edge, and told me to bring some more small sticks and a couple of medium sticks.

I pried up the edge of the grate with the medium sticks, and she tossed in the small sticks. We put down the grate and in seconds there was a blazing fire. She thumped the top of the grill a few times with a rag, and threw on the steaks. She sat back on her haunches for a few minutes, and then took her knife and flipped the steaks.

She told me to put some water in a pot. Then she fished the potatoes out to the edge of the pit with a long green willow branch. She told me to snatch the potatoes out onto the ground. I burned my fingers on the potatoes, and then burned the tops of my arms on the grate when I jumped back. She said she was sorry, but I could tell she was barely suppressing a laugh. I told her she was evil, and she laughed out loud. Slightly miffed, I told her to fish them out. She wrapped the rag tightly around her hand and fished them out without even getting my help with the grate. She tossed them in the water and washed them off while I nursed my bruised ego.

She lopped the side of the potatoes off with her knife and set them on plates. Then she probed the steaks with her knife and pronounced them done to perfection. She speared them with her knife and dropped them on the plates. Then she split the vegetables between the two plates, and set the skillet off to the edge of the fire. She poured coffee, she called camp mud, into a couple of tin cups. Then she probed into the potatoes with the tip of a fork and poured the grease from the skillet into them.

We sat back and enjoyed what I swear was the best meal I ever ate. We killed the last of the Somlo Ausbruch.

Just as we finished dinner, mosquitoes started swarming everywhere. We moved the dishes off the grate and pulled the grate off to the side. Then she built a big fire in the pit. I helped her throw willow branches into the fire. Soon the entire valley was filled with smoke. She let the fire burn down a little and dragged the grate back over the fire. There wasn't a sign of a mosquito anywhere.

She tossed out the potato washing water, and refilled the pot with fresh water and set it on the fire. When it was nearly boiling we used it to wash the dishes. She put everything in its place, dragged the grate from the fire, and set the coffee pot on a rock at the edge of the pit where it would stay hot.

Then we settled down to enjoy the fire the way that nature intended. I sat with my back to a rock, and she sat between my legs wrapped in my arms. I explored her breasts with my hands while she closed her eyes and held my forearms. We stayed that way for several hours, until the mosquitoes started coming back with a vengeance; then we retired to the safety of the tent.

We were both being eaten alive as we dove into the tent. Chelsea immediately spun around and zipped the door down tight. She pushed a zipper flap into the corner and sealed it with Velcro tabs. We were now sealed off from the outside world.

She hung a LED flashlight with a tiny bulb from a D ring in the roof of the tent. My eyes quickly adjusted to the feeble light. It was then I realized that the inside of the tent was still swarming with mosquitoes. I smacked at them as they landed on every exposed patch of skin and started biting.