Big Cat Island

By Nolan Nielson

Imagine, if you will. One hundred and fifty years ago a new island appeared 400 miles off the coast of California. It is a very large island, almost two and a half times the size of California. Its shape is roughly that of a snarling lion head. It is very rich and fertile. Soon after it was discovered it was seeded with grasses, trees and flowers. Plants of all descriptions and a myriad of animals were soon enjoying a prolific lifestyle. A lot of people are afraid of the island. There have been many frightening stories about the island. Those of us who live here are not frightened. The others who inhabit the island are neighbors. Would you like to come to the island and meet the neighbors?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9781684568314

Book preview

Chapter 1

In the Beginning

A newer Ford pickup, with the insignia of the Big Cat Island Forest and Wildlife Service, came into view, rolling smoothly into the small community. He traveled slowly down the one main road, looking carefully at the several groups of people, trying to find the man he wanted.

Coming out of a large cinderblock barn, Lloyd Delkins spied the pickup and motioned the driver over. He was surrounded by several children, one of whom was a girl about eleven or twelve years old with strawberry-blond hair tied in a ponytail.

She carried an official-looking clipboard.

The pickup came to a smooth stop, and a very rugged-looking large man wearing a game wardens uniform and an equally large teenage boy got out of the truck. They hurried over to Lloyd and had a quick conversation. The man and youth got back into the truck and headed to the community center.

Lloyd looked over at the children and said, Emily, I have to go over to the center and take care of this. Can you finish taking inventory and place the clipboard on my desk?

Sure, it shouldn’t take long. Most of this has already been done. What is going on, Grandpa?

We have a bunch of people hurt up on Big Twin Mountain.

Lloyd quickly walked over to the community center and walked past the people eating their dinner and strode over to the microphone on the small stage. He raised his hand, and silence quickly fell.

Levi Satterfield has just informed me that there is another plane crash on Big Twin. The people eating their meals quickly looked up, and several uttered a quiet groan. "He is not sure, but he thinks that there are several survivors. I am calling for six drivers and six relief drivers. Mo, I think we should consider taking three or four horses and travois carts to pack out people and equipment. I have no idea how far we are going to have to pack in to get to the crash site. I think that it would be best to start in the morning before first light.

Linda Rose, we are going to need provisions for twenty people for three days, maybe five days. Levi, did I forget anything?

Levi Satterfield looked up from his dinner plate and thought a minute before saying, No, I don’t think so. Just be careful. We have seen a few neighbors lately. They are in their usual home range and also up close to the Big Timber Summit. Benny and I will be heading back up after we finish eating. We will meet y’all at the Little Bear Meadow tomorrow.

The woman named Linda Rose, a silver-haired grandmotherly type, looked up at her husband, Lloyd, and started writing on a sheet of paper. Several men and women stopped by her table, had a quick conversation, and hurried off to their family groups.

Everybody sat where they were, gathering their families around, and started to make immediate plans. It soon became apparent that there were more volunteers for the driver and reliefs than they had vehicles. The general feeling was that this was indeed a welcome problem to have.

Big Twin Mountain was always trouble. During the past seventy years, there were twelve crashes on the mountainside. There were survivors in only three. Every surviving pilot solemnly swore that his instruments said that they were at twenty-thousand feet. In a region of mountains reaching 5,541 feet, they were actually at 3,000 feet when they crashed. The FAA did their due diligence and reported that, for whatever reason, the instruments were not to be trusted within one hundred miles of Big Twin Mountain Range. All flights over the mountain were to be done during daylight hours, during clear weather and visual only—no matter what. You would think that this would end the problem, but apparently it only slowed it down. The ignorance or arrogance of the pilot within the last eight years would be the cause of two other crashes on the mountainside. And now the latest one promised to be yet another tragedy.

The next morning promised to be clear and not too hot. There were ten vehicles lined up, ready to go. There were six large passenger vans, two four-wheel drive, four-door pickups, two large trucks hauling hay, and the two wheeled, horse-drawn travois carts. Each of the large trucks pulled a trailer with several horses.

The people were an eclectic mix of male and female. John and Abigail Dixon, a middle-aged couple were in the lead flatbed truck. It pulled a large horse trailer with four mounts. It also carried a good supply of bales of hay.

Del O’Shay and his eighteen-year-old daughter, Amber, were second. They drove a pickup with a canopy; the truck carried the first aid kits. In reality, it was a poor man’s mobile field hospital. Everyone in the group were certified first aid providers, and one was EMT certified.

Brent and Julie Mayes came next. They drove a ten-passenger, four-wheel-drive van. Brent and Julie were just married three months ago. She was one of John Dixon’s daughters. It was obvious to all that the honeymoon was far from over at their house.

Theo Dad Thurber and Gene Sanders came next, driving another ten-passenger van. They were both in their late fifties or early sixties. They grew up together and joined the Army together as teenagers. They settled down within a mile from each other and still enjoyed each other’s company. It was always a delight to hear them talk, joke, and tell tall tales with and about each other. They were both over six feet tall and both fit.

Lloyd Delkins and his oldest son, Dale, drove another ten-passenger van.

Clyde and Clete Haycock drove the other pickup. They carried tents, stoves, bottled water, and other camping equipment for the group. Clyde and Clete were twins, but you could never tell it by the way they looked or talked. Clyde walked with a natural, casual elegance. He was taller than his brother and always maintained a habit of exact speech and posture. He was a student at Fresno State with a dual major in art and music. He wanted to teach at the high school or collegiate level. Clete was the smaller of the two, stocky built with heavy muscles. He always wanted to be a professional bull rider or a high-rise steel fabricator or maybe a dangerous snake handler. They were different indeed.

Blair Sanders and his girlfriend, Brenda Bennett, were in the other van. They carried the food and more bottled waters for the large group. They could already smell the fresh baked bread and pies that the various families prepared the previous night. Blair was the grandson of Gene Sanders. Brenda was the daughter of Mo Bennett.

Mo Bennett came next with his ranch foreman, Danny Onehorse. He drove the other large flatbed truck that had the two-wheel canvas and tube steel travois carts and more bales of hay. He pulled a two-horse trailer.

The next big van had Craig and John Little. They were brothers and were cousins of the Delkins family. Craig was a navy medic, EMT certified, so his skills were immediately appreciated.

Cleveland Cleve Johnson and Archie Patel, who were the machinists, mechanics and fabricators of anything steel, brought up the rear. They drove the last truck. It was a fairly new Ford F-450 with a service body. Cleve and Archie ran the machine shop. Between the two of them, there was not much of anything that they couldn’t fix or fabricate from steel. They carried a large red toolbox and a portable welding unit. Their traveling kit went with them everywhere they went.

Their mechanical skill and fabrication ability were exceptional.

Most people came dressed with light jackets. They would be removed soon after the sun came up. All the relief drivers carried large caliber hunting rifles or handguns. Everyone fueled up, and several carried twenty to one hundred gallons of reserve fuel. It was always a good idea to have more. You never knew when something unexpected might happen, especially on Big Twin.

The miles slowly melted away. They stopped only once to care for the horses and to stretch their legs. The entire trip took five hours, mostly over good gravel roads. The last five miles or so were over unimproved logging roads. Progress was slowed to a crawl. The lead vehicle came around a bend in the road and found a large open field. Levi and Benny Satterfield and several other uniformed men stood near the road.

Hey, Levi, we found you.

Hey, Lloyd. Levi Satterfield motioned to the field and waved his arm. "Just park over there. We are within an easy mile of the crash site.

How many fatalities?

Five…probably six or seven by the time we get off this mountain.

Survivors?

There was a long pause, and finally he said, Maybe thirty.

There were looks and sounds of astonishment from the group. The older men started to head back to their vehicles to find their first aid kits.

Hey, guys, that won’t be needed at this time. Most of the survivors are military, and three or four are rangers, Special Forces–type, and we also have several nurses and paramedics. Their first aid skills are magnificent. They have set up a triage area and are doing a good job of getting that organized. There are several broken arms, legs, collarbones, and ribs. We are going to need the horses and carts to transport them across a good-sized stream and up a hill. All of these people are bruised and beaten up. I believe that a little more than half of them can walk out under their own power.

Quick progress was made unloading the horses and assembling the two-wheeled, heavy canvas and tube steel carts. In less than an hour, the triage camp jumped with activity. It was indeed as Satterfield described. The one difference that Levi did not mention was that of the thirty survivors, nine of the military and one of the civilians were women. Lloyd was glad that some of the drivers and reliefs were wives and girlfriends and teenage daughters. It made a less tense camp.

All the incoming people experienced camping. They were soon busy setting up camp and doing what was necessary.

Lloyd strode over to a small group of younger men.

Hey, guys, who brought the motorcycle?

An older but smaller teenager raised his hand. I did. I thought it might come in handy. John Little grinned.

"Little John, do you think…hmm…that if you can cut across the country, you could ride all the way back to the station on one tank of gas?

Nope, not a chance. I am pretty sure that if I can go out the long way, I can get to Evans or perhaps Harrisons though and wheedle enough.

Lloyd looked at the younger man, nodded, and said, Be sure to say thank you. It is twelve o’clock noon right now. If you leave right away, you might get back around midnight. Tell your Aunt Linda Rose about the situation. We should be back sometime just after dark tomorrow. I don’t have to tell you to watch out for our neighbors. They are a bit nasty.

Within twenty minutes, the motorcycle was unloaded, gassed up, and roared down the road.

Dale Delkins nodded at the retreating figure of Little John Little and said, Betcha ten dollars he makes it there before midnight. There were no takers.

The contingent of military and civilians looked up quizzically. What gives, sir?

Lloyd looked up at the rapidly departing figure and said, We’re going to need some more help when we get back.

The rest of the afternoon was spent talking to the crash victims and setting up their own separate camp. The women survivors and rescuers quickly found each other and began to work as a team. It was an easy atmosphere with the military people taking the lead and the people from the station doing everything that seemed sensible without getting in the way.

Dinner that night was shared with everyone: sandwiches, green salad, potato salad, and a choice of drinks, coffee, cocoa, fresh whole milk, or bottled water. The two groups settled into their camps, setting up tents and sleeping bags.

Lloyd Delkins gathered a group of rescuers and military around a large fire for conversation and information.

I believe that it would be wise to post a watch all night. He shifted his gaze over to the military people and continued, We have some neighbors in the area that are very…well…unpredictable. I don’t believe that they will give us much trouble, but just in case.

The military started to ask for an explanation, when several of the horses began to whinny, dance around, and fight against their picket line. The situation was more than Danny Onehorse could handle alone. Lloyd, Mo, and several other men grabbed