Of Seasons Past

By Larry Tyree

He watched as it approached, but there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He was trapped. Within minutes, the violent microburst struck the tiny metal cab at the top of the tower twisting the fabric of time and space. For Jordan Harper, the lone occupant, life was about to change. Thrust back in time, he was about to face the harsh dangers of the most rugged era in the early southwest. His struggle to return to his own time now compounded by the captivating Ms. Holly McKinnon.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Larry Tyree
• Release date: Feb 21, 2019
• ISBN: 9781370634231

Larry Tyree

Retired hotel executive Larry Tyree has spent most of his life working and living in the great Southwest, from the Superstition Mountains of Arizona to the mystical Sangre de Cristo Mountains of Santa Fe, New Mexico. He has acquired a unique perspective of the many unexplained happenings in the Southwest, from historical to recent events.As a young man, he was a law enforcement officer who met and dealt with many unforgettable characters along the Apache Trail of Arizona and throughout the mysterious Superstitions.Later, his hotel career took him to Santa Fe, New Mexico. Once again, he became intrigued with local accounts of extraordinary and unexplained occurrences. After having interviewed hundreds of people over the years, he has acquired insight into the exciting possibilities of a perhaps not so imaginary world of science fiction.Tyree lives near Phoenix, Arizona, with his wife Mary. Travel is their mutual passion, while the author remains alert for good story possibilities. Look for more adventures to come from Time Port Santa Fe. For further information, contact the author at [e-mail].

Book preview

The young man laid motionless on the rain-soaked ground, staring up at the dark angry sky hovering over him. He knew his life was in danger, but he couldn’t grasp the magnitude of the catastrophic event that had just taken place.

Large heavy rain drops pelted his face as he tried to reach for his legs, which had somehow lost all feeling along with the rest of his body. The pain was horrendous. He wanted to cry for help, but that was useless. There was no one else on the mountain but him.

A jagged bolt of lightning struck the ground nearby. Was this the end? His head was spinning, his vision all but absent. He laid back down on the wet soggy terrain, and drifted off into an unconscious state. Everything went black.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Twenty-two-year-old Jordan Harper was born and raised in a quiet little neighborhood in Mesa, Arizona, a suburb of Phoenix. The tall sandy-haired young man with deep blue penetrating eyes had graduated from Mesa High in 1966. With the aid of a scholarship, he embarked on an educational path in Forestry Management at Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff that fall. He dreamed of earning a degree in the biological sciences as they related to that field.

‘JR’, as he was referred to by his friends, was just one year from graduation when he’d been selected for a seasonal job with the Mesa Ranger District of the U.S. Forest Service.

As a young boy, Jordan and his father, Richard, a local contractor, spent almost every weekend exploring the back country of the Mazatzals, Superstitions, Four Peaks and Tonto Basin. By the time he was sixteen, there wasn’t a mountain trail he hadn’t hiked.

History was his passion. He studied the history of the old forts: Fort McDowell, Camp Verde, Fort Reno, as well as the old stage routes and stops along the Gila and Salt Rivers.

Now, with the curriculum he had chosen at NAU and his current job opportunity with the Forest Service, everything seemed to be a perfect fit for the young outdoorsman. He was right where he wanted to be in life.

Actually, he had known ever since he was probably eight years old and had accompanied his father on his first weekend camping trip to Four Peaks. He was hooked.

Thanks to a longtime friend of Richard’s, young Jordan met one of the district rangers who lived a few blocks from the family home. Before he’d completed his junior year for the summer break, Jordan had applied for an internship and was hired. It would be a great way to spend the summer before his senior year at NAU. By the time he was ready to graduate the following spring, he’d be prepared to venture out into a full-time job doing what he loved best.

As the new internship began, Jordan spent his long and lonely summer days and nights deep in the Tonto National Forest as a fire lookout on the rugged Mount Ord.

The one-hundred-ten-foot steel and wood lookout tower was located thirty miles northeast of town on the highest peak of the Mazatzal mountain range overlooking the Tonto Basin. It was a job he would soon grow to love. He was truly a nature enthusiast at heart, as well as an avid history buff of the famous mountains.

Jordan spent the first several weeks of his summer with an experienced ranger receiving rookie tower training. He was eager to learn the job and soaked up every bit of knowledge he could glean from his mentor, a ranger ten years his senior.

By the second week of June, his training was behind him. He was on his own in the big metal cab at the top of the lookout tower. Going forward from today, the responsibility for the safety of the Tonto Basin and the surrounding areas was his and his alone. It was a responsibility he accepted with great anticipation and excitement. Life couldn’t get any better than this.

~ 2 ~

July 7, 1968, turned out to be another one of those scorching hot and dry Arizona days. It was one week into the desert monsoon season, a season he was very used to, having grown up in the Southwest. The monsoon storms usually lasted one to three hours daily during the summer months, sometimes longer. Although it was the hottest time of the year, in the lofty tower it would be a bit cooler with a nice breeze flowing through the large open windows.

Jordan made the forty-five-minute winding drive up old highway 87 to the lookout tower in his rebuilt 1963 Chevy step-side pickup, a vehicle he had bought while he was still in high school. It had been in pretty pitiful shape when he found it out on an old ranch south of Chandler, but he and his Dad had brought it back to life and had even given it a fresh coat of white paint.

After leaving the highway, the aging but well-maintained, four-wheel drive truck was perfect for the ascent up the narrow forest service road. It’d be another thirty minutes up the steep and sometimes barely passable trail to the base of the fire tower on Mt. Ord.

It was a beautiful drive; one Jordan didn’t seem to tire of. The mountain was home to an abundance of wildlife he spotted on a regular basis. Deer, javelina, black bear and an occasional mountain lion. Every once in a while, he’d come across hikers whom he would always stop and chit chat with. Mt. Ord was quickly becoming his mountain and he was very attached to it.

At precisely 1500 hours, 3:00 pm, the passionate young ranger arrived for the beginning of his weeklong shift. He parked his truck near the supply shed next to the tower and embarked on the rigorous climb to the top. He had become accustomed to the modest living quarters which would be his home for the next five days.

Jordan didn’t mind the climb. The scenery was magnificent. The higher he went, the better it got.

The cab, as it was referred to, at the top of the tower was fourteen feet on each side with a small bed, propane refrigerator, cabinets for storage, and a small propane stove. All were neatly arranged around the outside perimeter of the quarters. In the center of the living quarters was the most important piece of equipment on the site, the Osborne Fire Finder. This was a circular rotating sighting instrument allowing him to obtain azimuth and distance coordinates for reporting fires.

Jordan would bring his food supplies in when he came, the ritual at the beginning of every shift. As a bachelor, his needs were pretty simple, and consisted mostly of dried or canned food and a bag of dried fruits. He also brought candy bars and nuts to tide him over. In addition, his mother always packed him some surprise delicacies as well. This time it was his favorite, chocolate brownies with pecans. An ample stock of surplus drinking water was supplied by the Forest Service.

The little cab had all the comforts of home a young bachelor could want. In one corner of the tiny structure was the small single frame metal bed. When he wasn’t busy surveying the countryside, he would lay on his bunk and read one of the many history books he would bring with him. At night, a small gas lantern would illuminate the site.

In addition to his bed in the miniature living quarters, there were two unique wooden stools that had been retrofitted with glass insulators attached to the legs scavenged from old telephone poles. This was for protection in the event of a lightning storm. The instructions on the wall said, Sit on the stools with your feet off of the floor. This was always good for a laugh when visitors came to see the tower.

Another great day in this beautiful country, played though his mind as he entered the tower and placed his backpack on the bed. He took his small transistor radio out of the side pocket and placed it next to the metal window frame. Most of the time his elevation would allow him to pick up one or two of the Phoenix radio stations at night.

Jordan was a proud young man. Proud to wear the uniform provided to him by the Forest Service. It consisted of a light green military-style shirt and a pair of darker green Levi-style trousers. The embroidered patches on the sleeves were almost new as the shirt had only a few wears. The gleaming brass name-tag on his breast pocket shined brightly as it reflected off of the afternoon sun trickling through the massive tower windows: ‘J.R. Harper.’

JR’s dad, Richard, had helped him pick out a new pair of mountain hiking boots which were conducive to being on his feet for long periods of time. He paid almost one hundred dollars at the Penney’s store at the new Tri-City Mall on the west side of town.

Now becoming settled in his new job, he’d occasionally bring his dog, Sampson, to work with him for company. But not this time; he would be solo this trip.

Jordan checked his pockets to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything in his truck as he scanned the magnificent view from high in the tower.

Small butane lighter, his favorite Buck knife, and of course, his good luck piece given to him by his grandfather. It was a well-worn 1868 seated liberty half dollar Grampa John had carried all through the Second World War.

On his belt was a new pair of night vision Bausch and Lomb binoculars his proud father had presented to him when he landed the job. They were the latest and most powerful available and were small enough to slip into his back pocket if he was in a hurry.

He checked his shirt pocket to ensure he had the two Bic pens with black ink, required by the Forest Service for his daily reports.

He removed his old black wallet from his back pocket and placed it on the wooden writing desk next to his watch, as was his normal routine at the beginning of each shift. He inhaled slowly and smiled to himself. He was ready to start his week.

First order of business was to pick up the microphone on the big Motorola radio sitting on the desk and check in with the district ranger. It was the protocol. It would verify Ranger Harper was now in service.

He cleared his throat, Ord 17 to base.

The dispatcher at headquarters calmly responded back, Go ahead Ord 17.

Ord 17, Ranger Harper 10-8.

Good day, Ord 17. Be aware the weather bureau has advised of a strong thunderhead moving your way. You need to keep an eye on it and advise of any serious conditions that may be developing.

10-4 base, Jordan acknowledged as he grabbed a Snickers bar from his backpack and scanned the western skies with his new binoculars. He smiled as he spotted a large bald eagle perched high atop a ponderosa pine some one hundred yards away. They were magnificent birds and the mountain seemed to have a good number of them. After a few minutes, the giant bird took flight and glided deep into the valley below. There was never a dull moment during the monsoon season.

~ 3 ~

18:30 hours Mt. Ord time.

The skies had quickly turned a dark blue-black in color. The bird population that normally hung around the tower had suddenly departed the area for parts unknown. Dispatch hadn’t been kidding when they said a storm was coming. Jordan scanned back towards town with his binoculars. It looked like they were really catching the brunt of the storm. He knew Sampson hated storms and hoped he was snuggled up on the couch between his mom and dad until the storm passed. Jordan shivered, Damn.

While he gazed in the direction of the city some thirty miles away, several lightning strikes hit the ground just on the other side of Four Peaks mountain. Close enough to cause him to jump again. The storm was now moving his way and closing fast. He quickly did a 360 in the tower to check all areas for lightning strikes. He looked down into Tonto Basin and then south toward Roosevelt Lake.

The radio suddenly cracked to life in the background. Ord 17, report.

Jordan picked up the microphone. His throat all of a sudden became very dry. He tried to wet his lips and speak into the radio. His voice felt shaky as he responded. Ord 17, the storm is rapidly approaching my location from the southeast. The visibility is about one-half mile but changing quickly. I’ve observed a number of lightning strikes but so far there’s no damage to report.

A solemn reminder came back over the radio speaker that echoed in the small cab. Remember to take precautionary measures as directed during storms. The weather service just advised this storm has tornadic microburst characteristics. Use all due caution and keep us advised going forward.

10-4, dispatch. Jordan replied as another loud clap of thunder roared by the tower, followed by a bright burst of lightning.

He took his binoculars from his belt and scanned the countryside immediately to his left. The most vulnerable and most populated area in his district was Punkin Center, a small sparsely populated area in the Tonto Basin. Other than the heavy rain, all seemed normal. He then checked some of the favorite areas that hikers usually traveled. Old Fort Reno, Reno Pass, Cloud Burst Springs and Boulder Mountain.

Visibility was decreasing by the minute. He didn’t know if there were hikers and backpackers out there, but if there were, he hoped they found shelter.

Jordan estimated the brunt of the storm would be on the tower within approximately ten minutes. The rain had started to come down in sheets and the sky was even darker, almost night-like, which gave him an eerie feeling since sunset was more than an hour away. He could no longer see Sycamore Creek or Sun Flower to the southwest. This had all the earmarks of a major storm.

He had been through many storms in the past, but this one seemed to be different. It made the hair on his neck stand straight up. For once he was glad Sampson was in the warm comfort of the family home. He would totally freak out if he were here in the tower.

Jordan recalled being caught in a sudden monsoon squall when he was at Canyon Lake with his father several years before. They took shelter in a small cave behind Tortilla Flat until the storm passed. When they tried to get back to their truck, Tortilla Creek was out of its banks and they had to wait seven hours to cross. They didn’t get home ‘til after midnight. Until now, that was the worst storm he’d been through. This one may be a record breaker, he surmised as he continued to survey the massive storm headed his way.

The next major lightning strike came within minutes and without warning. It shook the tower causing it to violently jerk to one side. His backpack and most of his supplies hit the floor with a resounding crash. The large Motorola VHF radio on the desk, his only link with civilization, abruptly produced a large puff of black smoke. It was done.

He quickly put his binoculars back in the small leather case on his belt and scrambled to pick up a few of the items on the floor.

The only thing he could do now was ride out the storm and hope for the best. He knew with communications out, one of the first things the Forest Service would do would be to come up to the mountain to restore the link. After all, Ord was the main communications relay center for all of Maricopa County, including the Sheriff’s Office.

The storm continued to gain in intensity as the tower persisted to sway. At this point, Jordan considered fleeing the tower for the confines of his truck some fifty yards away, but reconsidered quickly as another large bolt of lightning hit the ground nearby, knocking him to the floor. Logic was now replaced with fear. Fear for his life.

Pulling himself up next to the Osborne Fire Finder, he grabbed his grandfather’s good luck piece from his pocket and grasped it tightly. He attempted to crawl up on one of the glass insulator safety stools. That was the last thing Jordan Harper would remember.

~ 4 ~

It was early morning. The sun was shining brightly in the clear blue sky above. At the top of a nearby towering ponderosa pine, two overly excited black crows were hopping from limb to limb making all kinds of racket. Jordan opened his eyes. He wasn’t sure which morning it was or how long he’d been