George spoke first, “I know it would be hard to take the time. It would be great if you could come with me, but I totally understand if you can’t, or even if you don’t want to. I will just have to let Jill know.”
Russel scratched his bushy brown beard and arched his back, pushing his developing beer belly forward into the desk he was using at home. “The best I can do is take a look at my schedule and get back to you. If I think I can get off, I will still have to convince the director of the agency. He doesn’t like surprises,” he explained.
“Okay, that’s fine. I have some odds and ends to wrap up before I can go. Who knows, maybe this whole thing will wrap up before we leave. Look, I will just plan to go on my own, and if you can find a way to get loose, that would be great,” he said.
Before George got home, he received a phone call from Russel. He could take as much as a week to ten days. He had checked his schedule and had one important meeting on Tuesday, and then he felt he could take the time. He contacted his director and decided to be honest about why he wanted time off. Bruce Leonard had not hesitated. He had said, “I wish I could go too. I can’t, but I absolutely support you going.” Leonard had expedited the request, and by the time Russel had called, it was all set up.
“I don’t know how much time you were planning to take, but if a week works, I’m game. I told Mechala about it, and she is a little worried, but she understood.”
Mechala was Russel’s girlfriend for the past three years, following his divorce. Russel had no children, and the divorce had gone off without a hitch. He had considered marrying Mechala, but the last marriage had left him a little gun-shy.
“Let’s do this thing!”
Chapter 9
Trip to Burns, Oregon
January 3—day 2 of the MNWR occupation. Ammon Bundy becomes the spokesperson for the occupiers and denies violent intentions.
George pulled up to the apartment complex where Russel lived in the Laurelhurst area of Portland. Russel was nowhere to be seen. Typical of their relationship: he was always late. George locked his Toyota 4Runner, sighed, and headed up the stairs to Russel’s apartment.
Russel invited him into the room, saying, “I’m just about ready.”
George shrugged and said to himself, “Nothing new here.”
He settled into a dark-brown cloth couch and looked around. They usually got together at George’s home, and George had not seen Russel’s apartment.
George was amazed. He knew that Russel had moved into the apartment about a year ago to get closer to work. When Russel had told him that he was spending for this one-bedroom apartment, George was relieved to own a home. His vision went to the photo on the wall. He remembered it as one of the first photos of which he was proud. It was of a bald eagle sitting on telephone pole. George had gifted this photo to his birding buddy five years ago. Both his and Russel’s photography had improved, both in equipment and technique. His eye scanned the walls for space to put some new photos. Milk-white walls stared back. Before he could find a spot, Russel reappeared with his duffle bag.
“I’m pretty much ready. I have my camera gear ready too. I didn’t know if you thought we would have time to check out the wildlife,” Russel said.
“Yeah, I don’t know either, but it seemed strange to be going to Malheur without our cameras. So I brought my gear too.”
Soon they were packed and on the road for the six-hour trip to Burns. It was listed on the Maps app as a five-hour trip, but as usual, they would take a lunch break in Bend. Since it was January, George had checked the road conditions. On NOAA, he found packed snow on the pass. They were using George’s 4×4 and were not really worried about traveling over the pass. They were not planning on camping as they usually did, and George had arranged for one room with two beds in the hotel in Hines, a town neighboring Burns.
The first fifteen minutes of the trip were quiet, each thinking about the significance of the journey. George was wondering if he had been too hasty. What can I do down there? A bunch of yahoos running around with guns playing cowboys. What difference can I make? I think it’s important to stand up to these guys, but it’s kind of crazy to do so, he thought.
Russel was wondering, What have I gotten myself into? Why did I let George talk me into this? What in the hell will we do when we get there? I wish I could reconsider. I’m using my vacation time for this?
Finally, George said, “Did you see the paper today?”
Russel was pulled out of his negative reverie. He looked at George with a slightly hostile expression. “You mean about Malheur?”
“Yeah,” George said more sharply than he intended. “I mean I think it’s important to know what we are getting into.”
Feeling irritable, Russel responded, “I guess so, but there’s no way of knowing really until we get there. I suppose we can just keep looking at the stuff on the internet.”
George sensed the tension. As they passed Sandy, Oregon, he said, “I think we’re uptight about this.”
Russel nodded solemnly.
“I suppose we could turn around and forget about it,” he said without enthusiasm. There was a long pause.
Then Russel said, “Yeah, I thought about that. Part of me thinks this is a waste of time.”
“I get that,” George said. “Part of me thinks the same. I don’t know what kind of difference we can make down there. But I have trouble not doing anything.”
Russel nodded again but said nothing.
“You know, Russel, we still have time to turn around. A few more miles, and I won’t be so willing,” George said with a slight smile.
Russel noticed the smile and laughed softly. After sharing trips to this area and other wildlife destinations for years, they had developed an ability to pick up on subtle cues from each other. Russel could detect that George was trying to lighten the mood.
Letting the option to return settle into his mind, Russel responded, “I guess we could turn around, but I would hate to do that. I would feel like shit! I would feel a bit like a coward. Discretion is the better part of valor they say, but I think we must be committed. I got this far, and I’m willing to see it out.”
“I feel the same way,” George said.
There was another pause; then Russel said, “We can go and assess the situation. There should be plenty of opportunities to be cautious. Ahh, let’s make a pact. If either of us doesn’t want to do something, then we don’t do it. Deal?”
“That sounds good,” George concurred.
George decided to shift their focus onto their normal lives for a while. They talked about their respective relationships, then jobs, then beers; then they got back to the occupation of the refuge. They had laughed and become animated during the prior discussions, but their voice tone dropped when discussing the Malheur situation, except for periodic expletives.
“So, Russel, what do you know about these yahoos occupying the refuge?” George asked.
“All I know is that they are mostly sympathizers with a couple of ranchers. The Hammonds, I believe. They were charged and sentenced for setting fire to the refuge. I think they thought the land was theirs to do with as they pleased because they had been grazing their cattle there for years. From what I understand, they served some time, but a federal judge thought it was not enough, and they were about to go back to prison when these guys showed up.”
“That’s