The Saga of Lisa and Kelly Lange
Two Cowgirls and a Desperado
Part Two
Jeffrey Lange, Lisa and Kelly’s father, recognized that his daughters were fearless and resourceful when they were young. He and their mother, Ellen, were mounted backcountry rangers for the National Park Service in Yosemite before retiring to Sedona, Arizona.
Knowing this, the girls learned how to ride, read a topo map, and wilderness survival techniques when other young lasses were Girl Scout Brownies decorating paper plates with macaroni. Mr. Lange had this to say to his beloved children before they set off on their trip to the Humboldt-Toiyabe National Forest:
“We live in an unpredictable world ruled by the vagaries of nature and man. When we set out on an adventure, we must remember that any undertaking in the wilderness can go awry, no matter how well plan-ned. The art of navigating such a world is adapting and responding to the unexpected.”
He and Ellen knew in their hearts their girls were as capable as any man when it came to heading off into the backcountry.
Lisa and Kelly embarked on their 320-mile drive to the Humboldt-Toiyabe National Forest, oblivious that the horse trailer’s license plate had fallen off upon their departure from Purple Sage.
The drive north offered up some of our country’s most rugged and beautiful sce-nery: Pine and juniper replaced cactus and creosote bush as they steadily gained elevation.
The two stopped to see the eerie landscape of Mono Lake, with its stark limestone pillars rising from the alkaline waters, three times as salty as the Pacific Ocean.
At the same time, the Lange sisters were standing on the shore of Mono Lake; a black-billed magpie per-ched high in a ponderosa pine in Humboldt-Toiyabe National Forest watched a scruffy-looking man step out of a remote cave and into the light, but not before scanning the area to make sure no one was watching.
The man walked down a narrow trail from the cave to a small stream, drinking straight from his cupped hands. Standing up and looking around again, he returned to the cave and came back out shortly, leading a shoeless woman by a rope tied around her waist and wearing handcuffs behind her back.
He practically dragged the young woman down the slope and made her lie on her stomach at the stream’s edge, forced to lap up the water like a wild animal.
After departing Mono Lake, the Langes realized they had not eaten anything since leaving Purple Sage that morning, and it was lunchtime. They decided to drive the 30 miles to Bridgeport, California, the gateway to the national forest, and find suitable fare there before registering for a backcountry permit at the Forest Service office.
As was their custom, they drove around the small town before settling on a small and brightly lit glass and chrome diner offering bison burgers with, according to the sign, the best onion rings west of the Mississippi. They laughed, and Kelly said, “We’ll have to put that claim to the test.”
The Langes parked in the spacious parking lot with room for their truck and trailer. They took a booth with bright red vinyl seats, prompting Lisa to say, “Wow, this is like one of those diners in the 1950s, the one in that famous painting with Elvis and Marilyn Monroe in it.”
“I think you mean Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks painting, but Marilyn Monroe and Elvis were not really in his painting,” replied Kelly.
“Whatever,” said Lisa, “let’s order their specialty, I’m famished.”
Ten minutes later, they were discussing the merits of their meal when they noticed a man in uniform walking around their rig. “Lisa touched Kelly’s onion ring-laden hand, saying, “Why is that cop checking out our truck?”
When the uncommonly handsome officer walked through the door, he glanced around the dining room, taking a seat at the far end of the counter.
When they finished their burgers, they ordered coffee and pie, also advertised as “The Best in the West.” Lisa pulled out a map and started studying the route leading to the entrance to the national forest.
Kelly leaned across the table toward Lisa and said teasingly, “ That cop keeps looking at you. Are you wanted for some crime you haven’t told me about?
Lisa replied, “The only crime in this diner is their overestimation of the pie; Mom’s is much better.”
“That’s not what I mean; he keeps looking at you like he finds you attractive. We look a lot alike; we’re practically twins, so why am I not getting some of his attention?” said Kelly.
“Well, replied Lisa, “it just may be that huge diamond wedding ring you’re wearing. It shimmers like a disco ball reflecting off all the chrome in here.”
As Lisa folded the map and they prepared to leave, the officer abandoned his meal and walked over to their booth. They both looked up to see that he wasn’t a trooper but a tall Native American man wearing a National Forest Service uniform, gun and all.
He tipped his broad-brimmed hat just like in the movies and said, “Since I know everybody in this diner but you two ladies, I figure you must be the ones with the horse trailer out there.”
“That’d be us,” said Kelly.
“Your license tag is missing; do you have it currently registered? he said, glancing back and forth between the two women,” adding, “You must be sisters.”
“We are,” said Kelly, “and, yes, sir, the trailer is registered in Arizona, where we live, and, no, we did not know it was missing. Are you going to give us a ticket?” she asked with a wry smile.”
He laughed and said shyly,” Oh no, I’m a ranger with the Forest Service and thought I should let you know that if you get pulled over by the California Highway Patrol, just show them your registration. They’ll tell you to get it replaced when you return to Arizona. By the way, what brings you up here?”
Kelly and Lisa were so taken with his jet black hair and dark eyes that they took a few moments to respond. Lisa finally offered, “My sister and I plan to ride backcountry for a few days in the Humboldt-Toiyabe.
“We have some great trails here; you’ll love the views,” he said.
“Can you direct us to the park office so we can get a permit?”
“Sure, be glad to,” he replied a bit too eagerly, “Just follow me; I’m heading there now.”
A twenty-minute drive brought them to the ranger station, a cozy log structure in a grove of lodgepole pines. As they exited their truck, the park ranger walked over to Lisa and Kelly, saying, “I apologize for not introducing myself earlier. My name may be unpronounceable to you, so you can just call me Joe,” said the ranger.”
“I’m Lisa Lange, and this is my much older sister, Kelly. And why would your name be unpronounceable?” Lisa asked, followed by Kelly elbowing her in the ribs.
“My parents named me Ahiga Todachine, not an altogether unusual Navajo name, but hard to remember for most others,” the ruggedly handsome ranger replied.
Kelly shot back, “Let’s stick with Joe. And say, aren’t you a good bit north of the Navajo Reservation.”
“I grew up in a small town in New Mexico called Thoreau and worked at Chaco Canyon for a few years before coming up here. The Humboldt-Toiyabe covers over six million acres in California and Nevada, and there are twenty-six different tribes living there, mostly Shoshone and Paiute.”
“Maybe we should head into the office and register you two for a backcountry permit,” Joe continued.
Kelly started the paperwork while Lisa perused a large 3-D national forest map on a waist-height table. “We have to indicate which backcountry area we will be riding in,” Kelly told Lisa.
“Well, we’ve never been here before, so what do you think, Joe? Lisa asked.
“If you want to stay high on the ridges for beauty’s sake, you can’t beat a thirty-eight-mile loop called the Tonapah Trail. It’s noted for its splendid vistas, and the trail is much smoother and safer for your horses than the canyon trails.” Joe replied, adding, “No one’s back there now, so you’ll have it all to yourself.”
When the paperwork was completed, Joe handed Kelly the permit, reminding her that it was for four days. He also went over the rules about open fires and the pack it in, pack it out ethic, and reminded them to boil any water taken from lakes, as there have been some cases of Giardia in recent years.
Joe pointed out how to get to the trailhead on a map and handed them a packet of information he suggested they carry with them.
Eager to get on the trail, Lisa said, “Thanks, Joe; we’ll head down to the trailhead and get set up for tomorrow’s trek before dark.”
As they started for the door, Joe said, “There’s one more thing I need to mention, although I don’t want to scare you.”
Being easy on the eyes, they both turned and looked at Joe asking at the same time, “What?”
Joe told the sisters that there was a serial killer who preyed on young women, predominantly Native American, in three different national forests in California and Nevada, saying Humboldt was one of them. However, he hasn’t been active for several years. There is an FBI wanted poster and information about this piece of crap in your packet.”
“Forewarned is forearmed,” Kelly said. “We keep our father’s 30/30 carbine on the pack mule.”
Joe walked them back to their truck. He couldn’t hide his interest in and attraction to the two women. Standing at the driver’s window before they pulled away, he said, “Take care out there. I expect you to return that permit to this office in no more than four days. Otherwise, I am coming out to look for you. You’ll find that you have a cellphone signal on most of the ridges but nada in the canyons. Keep your eyes open.”
Joe tipped his hat again and walked back to the ranger station.
Kelly asked, “Do you think Joe gives this much attention to all visitors?” Lisa blushed at this, and the two drove away smiling.
To be continued…
Ken Springer
ken1949bongo@gmail.com