Peeks and Valleys

The Strange and the Every Day

Photo by Luke Richardson on Unsplash

In Balinga, Washington, the small community on the farm past the flea market, she noted that the apple sect gasped in disgust when she asked about cider.

Merriwood, Iowa, the beekeeping group who modeled their work structure and dwellings after the bees themselves all seemed to have perfect skin.

Kerry Kircedlund won a Wolfe Award for her longform on the forty-two members of Leonard’s Farm, in Tennessee, who worshiped chickens as a deity, and defended The Rainsavers, who lived in Atteson, South Carolina and found bathing repugnant.

An email from a reader told her of a place in the Porcupine Mountains, where on a clear day, when the sun rose between the peaks in a particular valley, the bright orange ball of hydrogen and helium resembled giant devil horns.

“Is there a group who gathers there?” she asked and never got a reply.

A few pictures existed online.She found no trace of groups, whether satanist or science buffs, who were fans of the event.

Was it specific to a time of year? The nature of the sunrise and of seasons would suggest so.

Did the mountains fog easily?

Was it rare?

Was the specific spot a difficult hike?

She drove north, considered it more lark than work, more journey than journalism.

The sun rose every day, all over the world.

It was beautiful, certainly, and there were aficionados and devotees, but was there a more shared experience on the globe?

A sunset, Kerry guessed.

It was 4:38 am when Kerry parked her car in a small tourist overlook zone. There were no other cars. Kerry wondered if the email writer had parked there too.

According to the coordinates in the email, she was less than a mile from the area where the demon horn sunrise would be visible, if it was visible on this imminent morning.

It was chilly, but the weather report promised a clear and pleasant June day, with a 5:31 sunrise.

Kerry walked into the valley, following a thin, unmarked hiking trail.It curled back east, where she wanted to be,dipped down into a ravine, then ran along it about twenty feet above the bottom.

The light of her Mag bounced as she walked, startling bunnies.

She hoped she didn’t get skunked, though it wouldn’t be the first time.

The trail veered off west and she had to leave it to get to the coordinates she had been given.

She was close now, the coordinates somewhere just over the hill.

Kerry stopped and took a selfie. She wasn’t a fan of them, but she wanted a reference of her journey.

She took some panoramics.

There were a few fireflies, but it seemed as though the main hatch had not taken place.

Kerry extinguished her flashlight. 

There were no signs of other lights, of voices and voices carry in remote areas with little traffic or urban activity.

Did the locals know it was too foggy? Were they superstitious? Religious? Was the emailer simply wrong about the coordinates?

Kerry knew one thing. 

The sun would rise above these mountains, these hills, no matter what. 

As she neared the crest of the hill, her calves burning, lactic acid making its presence known.

She was nowhere near the peaks,but could see the outlines of the lower crags that would cause the devil horn effect. The air was thinning.

How steep was it on the other side of the hill? 

Would a Lance Henriksen or Michael Berryman lookalike greet her suspiciously, angrily?

Kerry took a scratch across her leg through her jeans, from a thorny bush and yelped.

She was at the top of the hill.

Looking down to assure herself that the grade was safe, she climbed over slowly.

A couple in a sleeping bag looked up at her in fright.

Her yelp had startled them. Her light, her presence, obtrusive.

Kerry shut the flashlight off.

She didn’t know where they had come from, or why she hadn’t heard them previously, but she had certainly disturbed them.

“Sorry,” she said weakly and turned, climbing back down the other side of the crest.

Kerry speculated that they had come for the sunrise, had planned the trip far in advance.

She was unwelcome in their world at that moment, and though she hadn’t intended any harm at all, it was hard not to feel like devil horns were rising above her head.

***

Authors Notes:

-The photo is not of the Porcupine Mountains.

-There’s a musical Easter Egg in here

-Michael and I were supposed to work together on a film alternately titled Bruin Lake/Hell, Michigan but, like many film projects, it never came to fruition. Some footage exists somewhere of me playing multiple characters.