The Answer

By Timothy W Denmead

"It was getting dark, and by most accounts it had been a good day. The afternoon shadows had faded and all that was left was the lingering glow of the western sky to light the way. But Mitt was confident he could make it. He was climbing a small waterfall in Seven Rivers National Park, nowhere near the marked trails. He had been following the ri

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pimento Design
• Release date: Dec 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9780645380613

Book preview

epub-cover2.gif

THE

ANSWER

THE

ANSWER

TIM DENMEAD

THE

ANSWER

This is a work of fiction. Characters, organisations, companies and authorities mentioned in this story are the products of the authors imagination or, if real, used fictitiously without any attempt to describe actual conduct.

Any characters that may appear similar to actual persons, have been created in the true spirit of camaraderie and no offence should be implied.

ISBN: 978-0-6453806-1-3

Published by Tim Denmead

Copyright © 2021 Tim Denmead

First published December 2021

Editied by Jacquie Whitefield - My Life Story Writer

Cover design - Pimento Design

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

For Jim

Without whom, I would never have found

‘The Answer’

One

It was getting dark, and by most accounts it had been a good day. The afternoon shadows had faded and all that was left was the lingering glow of the western sky to light the way. But Mitt was confident he could make it. He was climbing a small waterfall in Seven Rivers National Park, nowhere near the marked trails. He had been following the river for several hours now and he saw the perfect campsite for the night, but it was still 15 metres above him.

Mitt Driscoll, besides having the same first name as a famous American politician, regarded himself as fairly ordinary. He was a fifty-something, mostly fit-for-his-age, contemplative man. He was the father of grown-up twin daughters, Amber and Alice, who still lived at home. He had been married for more than half his life to his steadfast wife Emma and he had a problematic occupation – self-employed artist.

Mitt reached his objective at the summit of the waterfall and looked through his pack to find his trusty ‘Atomic Torch’, an incredibly powerful LED torch that could transform night into day. He saw it advertised on a late-night infomercial and it appeared to be able to do anything light related. He laughed it off as a crazy gimmick but was absolutely delighted when Emma bought it for him for his birthday.

Mitt’s Atomic Torch had become one of his favourite camping tools along with his pocket Leatherman knife and his carabiners that he used to clip things to his pack. He loved them all because they were finished in a beautiful anodised metallic blue colour. In fact he actually only bought his carabiners because they matched his colour scheme. They were proper climbing accessories and cost five times the price as the Kathmandu ones, but aesthetics were important to Mitt. And with his love of the colour blue, he thought he must have been a bowerbird in a previous incarnation.

Mitt didn’t go hiking too often, but he came to rely on intermittent solo escapes as a remedy for life’s tendency to challenge his happiness. This particular hike was well needed and its calming effect had worked to a point, but there was still an underlying anxiety travelling with Mitt.

He pitched his tent and made his evening meal; he pulled out his phone and scrolled through the photos he’d taken that day. Were these going to be the genesis for his next artistic endeavour? Did he have enough inspiration to turn the endeavour into success? Which really meant selling his art.

Mitt was a glass artist. His gift was unusual, but not straightforward. It required a lot of hot physical work in a large glass foundry with many people involved in the process of blowing and manipulating molten glass into works of art.

It sounded like a dream vocation, but the joy of being creative and the joy of being self-employed were tempered by the constant fear of wondering when the next payment would reach the bank account. There was immense pressure to keep producing art at a ‘High-Level’.

There was a crazy political system in the glass foundry for access to the hot-shops, and the new director favoured the young upcoming artists. Then there was the question of who was going to buy his latest piece? And what was going to be his next inspiration? For Mitt, that was the hardest part; he often lamented that the creative process was both a blessing and a curse. But lately it had only been a curse, hence his tent pitched atop the waterfall in the middle of Seven Rivers National Park.

As was his tendency, Mitt laid back under the stars and contemplated his life to this point. He considered that he had a noble aptitude for being an artist, he had certainly gained much admiration from people he met in life when they discovered what he did for a living. But life didn’t really accommodate an artist very well as a ‘real career choice’. Mitt was torn from being noble, to being a good provider for his family.

Mitt knew the real provider for his family was Emma. She worked as an Executive Assistant to ‘Mr Boris Rutherford’. A particularly arrogant financial advisor who was a minor celebrity. He had made his wealth on the back of his father’s fortune, but then had the guile to proclaim himself as the ‘Money Guru’ and had written books on the matter. Emma had worked hard in her position for many, many years and was really the mainstay of Boris Rutherford’s ability to get anything done at all.

Mitt realised how lucky he was to have met Emma. She loved him because of his creativity and had never once complained about not being able to buy their own house, or not going on the great overseas expeditions they had always hoped for.

But that changed during the week before he left on this trip. Emma made several references to the state of the bank balance and how were they going to get through the next month. Mitt had done his best to calm her down, not an easy job when he felt like she had a good point. But on the Friday, he received some great news – the local council was going to fund a major exhibition of his work. It had taken many months of proposals and applications, but finally Mitt got the phone call that it was going ahead. He left with Emma’s blessing but was still a bit thrown by their exchange.

As Mitt watched a small satellite track its way across the sky, he managed to put everything back together in his head. Things always somehow worked out and the upcoming exhibition was uplifting. He felt a sense of calm come over him that was deep and profound; he headed into his tent and drifted off to sleep.

Mitt didn’t sleep well that night. The camping gods had sent gremlins. He woke in the middle of the night with an aching back; his sleeping mat had deflated and it felt like his whole body was pivoting on a large rock. He re-inflated the mat and tried his best to reposition it away from the rock and then tried to sleep again. That was his problem, once he was aware that he was trying to get to sleep, his mind started racing. Then having finally drifted into that delightful sensation of being on the verge of sleep, he was suddenly conscious of that dreaded high pitch whining sound of a mozzie buzzing past his ear.

Damn it, right I’m going to sort this out!

He reached for his Atomic Torch and found the tiny offender near the roof of his tent. With a loud and purposeful clap of his hands the problem was resolved and he then reset himself to find sleep. He was fairly certain that the morning sun was actually present by the time he drifted off.

When he woke again, it was because he felt like he was starting to melt. The sun was beaming full bore onto the tent roof creating a mini greenhouse inside. He knew he had to get up now, even though his head was a fog. Being in nature without having had proper sleep didn’t feel good. He fumbled with the zip and rolled out into reality.

Mitt’s first few movements were slow and clumsy, but he was very good at adapting and soon found his groove and began the process of making his morning coffee. He was slightly annoyed at himself for having a bad night’s sleep. This experience was supposed to be a respite and now he felt tense again.

He finished up breakfast and started packing up his camp. He was meticulous in his method of packing and he secured all his gear in and onto his pack except for his tent, the last item to be dismantled. He removed the ground pegs, took out the fibreglass poles and rolled up the tent neatly. He stowed them in the tent bag, which just left the ground sheet. He folded it up neatly and revealed the offending rock sticking up in the ground that had caused him so much angst. It was almost a perfect tiny pyramid.

Geez, I had no chance! Why didn’t I see that before?

Out of frustration and curiosity Mitt decided to dig up the stupid rock. It was partly buried and he eventually had to find a stick to lever it out. It popped up and he picked it up and rubbed off the dirt. Besides being oddly pyramid shaped it was of no consequence and as payback for his interrupted sleep he launched into the bush.

Bastard!

Mitt swung his pack onto his back, clipped up his hip harness and was about to head off when he noticed a flash of light reflecting out of the hole he had just created.

He bent down to inspect; it was funny how unnatural objects were so obvious in the natural environment. He was expecting an old bottle or can that had been left by some previous camper. But it wasn’t either, it was very shiny and smooth. Now he was intrigued. Time for the Atomic Torch. He shone the torch into the little hole and illuminated the object on full power. It reflected the light brilliantly and the reflection was distinctly gold in colour.

What is that? Surely not, hmmm. It must be some pyrite formation. There’s no gold around here.

Mitt was talking out loud, one of his quirky traits when he was alone and in deep thought. But he could just see the surface and it was very smooth, like glass. This required further investigation. He thought about using his pocket Leatherman, but its beautiful, anodized housing and precision mechanism should not be trashed in an attempted excavation. He simply decided on another stick.

The stick was pretty much useless. He managed to scrape off some dirt and reveal a little more of the object and it all looked the same, smooth, shiny and gleaming back at him. He could see a gold area of about 5cm X 2cm, but it was well and truly buried; there were other rocks obscuring the object that looked like they had been there since the earth was formed. It was intriguing, but it was definitely unobtainable. Mitt decided that whatever it was, it