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priestessofspiders · 2 years

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They Dwell Beneath

The following documents have been compiled together in an attempt to present a clearer picture of the unusual events leading to the abandonment of Stevensville, Colorado on July 18, 1987. The official explanation of the town's evacuation is an underground coal fire caused due to an unusually destructive and highly localized earthquake. With this evidence, I hope to change that perception.

Newspaper clipping from the Stevensville Herald, April 17th, 1987

McClintock Coal Mine Digging New Shaft

The McClintock coal mine is digging a new mine shaft some time in the next month. Victor Briggs, the mine's foreman, states, "The company has been looking to expand for some time now. The other shafts are no longer yielding as much coal, and increasing mechanization has been resulting in layoffs. Julian McClintock believes the best solution is to start a new shaft, some recent geological surveys have hinted there may be vast wealth of coal at the proposed location of shaft 8. This expansion will bring in dozens of new jobs, something that this town desperately needs."

Others however, have less positive opinions on this development. "A new mine shaft means more pollution and a greater reliance on fossil fuels", claims Diana Schneider, chairwoman of the Thomas County Conservation Society. "Our greed is destroying our planet, just look at what has happened to Lark's creek due to runoff from the mines already! We need to think about what kind of world our children are going to inherit."

Mayor Mitchell has responded to the recent criticism, explaining, "We need to focus on our citizens, not a bunch of trees. These environmentalists don't understand that we need jobs far more than we need a scenic view. If Ms. Schneider is so concerned about the world our children are going to inherit, she should consider whether an impoverished child would rather have a pleasant view or food to eat." Julian McClintock, owner of the McClintock coal mine, could not be reached for comment.

Newspaper clipping from the Stevensville Herald, May 10th, 1987

Geologist Baffled Over Recent Earthquakes

Dr. Katherine Hendricks of the Thomas County Geological Institute is unable to explain the recent quakes that seem focused around Stevensville. "It just doesn't make sense", says Hendricks, "it doesn't line up with any of the geological information we have for this area, and the seismograph data is just bizarre."

The quakes, which started earlier this week, have all been unusually powerful for this region, measuring an average of 4.6 on the Richter scale. While no injuries have been reported, the quakes have resulted in some noticeable shaking and loud rumbling. County authorities advise that residents of Stevensville should pack up and secure easily damaged valuables until further notice. Diary Entry of Ronald Winsome, June 3rd, 1987

I've been moved over to work on shaft 8 today. I didn't really mind, its mostly the same work I've been doing for a while now, though some of the equipment is a bit newer. Management was right, there is a lot more coal in this area, and it seems of much higher quality as well. I'm also looking forward to the pay boost, more money for the same work is always nice. The only thing that bugs me are two of the new workers, I think their names are Jim and Robert. There is just something off about them. They work the machines just fine of course, excellent even, but they don't talk much, and they always have these stupid grins on their faces. Whenever I try to make conversation while we work they just give me this blank stare and idiotic smile, like they're looking right through me. I thought maybe it was just me, but I asked my buddy Charlie about it and they seem freaky to him too. Maybe they're on something, I don't know, I might bring it up with Victor.

Diary Entry of Ronald Winsome, June 4th, 1987

I spoke to Victor today and the strangest thing happened. The conversation started out completely ordinary, nothing seemed unusual. He asked me about the wife, how I was doing, etc., but when I brought up Jim and Robert his eyes went blank and he got the same stupid smile on his face. He just said something like "Oh don't mind them, they're just a bit shy is all, there's nothing to worry about". I tried to elaborate and he just repeated the exact same words, same tone, verbatim. I left it at that and didn't press the issue, if I'm being honest with myself it chilled me to the bone. He sounded like a different person, like some sort of machine instead of a flesh and blood man. Just thinking about it gives me the creeps. I mentioned it to Charlie and he thought it was really weird. He thinks it might be some sort of bizarre prank or something, but I don't know.

Diary Entry of Ronald Winsome, June 5th, 1987

I don't know if I can take much more of this. There is something deeply, terribly wrong happening here. Charlie is acting different now too. I've been working with this guy for years. I was excited when he got transferred over to shaft 8 with me, happy to see a familiar face. But now he has the same, stupid smile and blank-eyed stare as Jim and Robert. He didn't even seem to recognize me when I said hi to him earlier. I hope this is just some stupid prank, I feel like I'm losing my mind.

Diary Entry of Ronald Winsome, June 8th, 1987

I quit today. I just can't take it anymore. I got back from the weekend hoping everyone would just be done with this damn joke but its gotten even worse. Jim got his hand caught in the treads of one of the diggers, he nearly got his whole arm torn off. I've seen accidents like this before, it wasn't the flesh tearing or blood spurting that's got me shaken, it was how he reacted. He just stared blankly ahead, smiling like a goddamn moron, not so much as a flinch as the machine ripped half his arm off. I put in my resignation at the end of my shift. I told them it was a two weeks notice but I'm not coming in there again. I saw that same grin on Victor as I told him I was going. The same blankness in his eyes. What the Hell is going on?

Letter From Dr. Jeremy Hopkins to his brother Andrew Hopkins, June 9th, 1987

Andy,

I'm writing to you today because I just need to get something off my chest. You've always been someone I can talk to when things have been rough, and I really can't deal with the idea of bottling this up. We had a patient wheeled into the ER yesterday, he had gotten his arm torn off in a mining accident (I'll spare you the gory details, I know you don't have much of a stomach for that stuff). Needless to say, the poor bastard was in a sorry state by the time we got to him, he had lost quite a bit of blood. We weren't sure he'd make it. Now you know me Andy, I'm not one to get all riled up over something as simple as a severed limb, but that's not what bothered me. It was the fact that this man showed absolutely no signs of stress or shock whatsoever. He was just sort of smiling, blankly, nothing behind his eyes, but strangely it didn't seem like he was in any sort of catatonic state or anything like that. He looked around, even responded to questions, always speaking in a calm sort of voice. That damn smile never left his face. Weirder still, sedatives didn't seem to work on him. We wanted to try and put him under but the IV did nothing. I triple checked the needle, it was fine, no problem with the bag either. I even had the nurses change out the medicine just to see if we accidentally gave him mislabeled saline but it didn't matter; he just wouldn't fall unconscious. He kept staring at us as we worked to clean up the wound and stop the bleeding.

After he was stable I gave him a proper examination. I wanted to take a look at his head, see if there was any trauma there that could account for his utterly bizarre lack of pain or inability to fall unconscious. He bit me when I tried to. No change in that stupid smile or blank doll eyes, just jerked his head toward me and bit me hard on the arm when I tried to. After I finally got him off me and had the nurses tie him down (and attempt to anaesthetize him, but obviously that didn't work) he just kept smiling and staring, even as he thrashed against his bonds. We had to basically tie him down to get a good look at him, not that he ever stopped struggling. I finally did get a closer look at his head, and what I found puzzled me immensely. It was very faint, but around the circumference of his head was a thin white scar, all the way around. Like how a cartoon might depict someone getting brain surgery by just having the top of their head pulled off like the lid of a box. I barely even noticed it at first, it was so faint.

Its hard thinking about what happened next. If I knew it would have turned out this way, I never would have done what I did. I wanted to get a look at his brain, figure out what happened, if he would need surgery. We prepped the MRI machine and strapped him in. He just kept smiling and staring blankly ahead, gave no warning or anything. He didn't say anything at all when we pushed him into the machine. Didn't say anything as we flipped on the switch. He only started talking after it was too late.

It was only once the machine started that he began screaming. He started shouting for help, begging us to stop. Then he said the words that will haunt me to the day I die. He shouted "They put something in my head!" I tried to shut it off, I swear I did everything right, but I must have got so panicked I fumbled just a little too long. I know its impossible, but it almost felt as if the machine was fighting back. I watched in horror as I saw his flesh start to writhe as if full of worms, his veins bulging as his eyes darted around. It could only have been a few seconds, but for me time seemed to pass like molasses. There was a sudden sense of calm on the patient's face, and then his head exploded, showering blood and bits of brain all over the inside of the machine. Scattered among the gore were dozens of intricate pieces of metal, rapidly crumpling into flat discs of metal under the intense magnetic force. I'm sorry, I know I said I wouldn't go into details, but I just had to tell someone.

The official explanation is that the patient had some shrapnel in the head that was previously unreported. I can't believe that. I didn't get too good of a look at whatever was inside his head before they were flattered, but it didn't look like any shrapnel I've ever seen. In addition, there is no record of the patient ever serving in the military, and any severe enough injury to leave that much metal inside his skull would surely be recorded somewhere. Someone did this to him. I've been given 2 weeks off for my mental health. I was hoping I could come visit you and Christine. I think I need to see some familiar faces after this experience. I'm sorry.

Yours Jeremy Transcript of an interview with Doctor Natasha Albertson for the cancelled TV show "Bizarre Mysteries", conducted January 13th, 2003. Interviewer is Arthur Dennings. ARTHUR: So, Ms. Albertson, we understand that you had an unusual experience with an autopsy in 1987.

NATASHA: That's why I'm here aren't I? ARTHUR: Why don't you tell us what happened? NATASHA: Well, that's a bit easier asked than answered, but I'll do my best. It was, if I had to guess, June 28th when I became directly involved. About a week or two earlier a miner by the name of Roger Ainsley never returned home from the mine. According to his partner, he had been acting strangely for several days beforehand. Roger had been seeming to forget how to do basic tasks, smiling strangely at inopportune moments, and sometimes just stared at the wall for hours, seeming not to blink. His partner had considered getting him to see professional help, but as they were a gay couple in the 80s, that wasn't really an option for them. So he just hoped it would pass on its own, and tried to do his best to take care of him. Then one day he just never came back after work. No explanation, no note, no nothing, he just didn't come back. From what I was told, security cameras didn't pick him up leaving the mine either. It was as if he just vanished. ARTHUR: Did Roger Ainsley have any history of mental illness or anything like that? NATASHA: Nope, none at all. He was considered by all who knew him to be mentally sound. He had no history of depression, schizophrenia, anxiety, nothing. He occasionally had a drink or a cigarette after his shift at the mine, but nothing that would count as an addiction, and as near as anyone could tell he'd never taken any form of illicit substances. He just started acting weird out of the blue and then vanished. ARTHUR: And how did you come into the picture? NATASHA: Well, after a few days of no contact, Roger's boyfriend called the police. Of course they found nothing. They suspected he fled town or something similar, and didn't put a lot of effort into the search. Not a lot of sympathy for folks like us back then. Anyway, after a week or two, he just turned up out of the blue at the edge of the woods, stark naked and barely breathing. The kids who found him took Roger to the hospital, but by the time they got him there the poor guy had already passed away. Now, at the time I worked as a pathologist at the Thomas County Hospital, so it was my job to perform an autopsy on him. I didn't have any knowledge of who he was at the time, since I didn't live in Stevensville and word hadn't really gotten around yet. To me he was just another John Doe. ARTHUR: What did you find? [THERE IS A PAUSE OF AROUND 5 SECONDS] NATASHA: Nothing at first. Not a mark on him beyond some scratches and whatnot, consistent with what someone wandering naked in the woods would have. He seemed a bit malnourished and dehydrated, but not too bad to have died. My thought at the time was an overdose of some kind, given how he was found. That was my working theory until I took a look at his skull. ARTHUR: What was wrong with his skull?

NATASHA: There was a faint scar around the whole cranium, almost unnoticeable unless you were checking very closely. It was way too precise to have been made with any of the technology at the time, unless somehow this working class coal miner had gotten highly experimental treatment I hadn't heard about. I was at a loss, but it seemed to me almost as if it was some sign of brain surgery. So I did what any self-respecting pathologist would do; I opened up his skull. ARTHUR: What did you find? NATASHA: Nothing. ARTHUR: You mean, his brain seemed normal? NATASHA: No, I mean there was nothing in there. His skull was empty. Newspaper Clipping from the Stevensville Herald, July 3rd, 1987

Environmentalist Group Sues McClintock Mine The Thomas County Conservation Society announced plans this past wednesday to sue the McClintock coal mine, over alleged violations of the Clean Water Act. "I've been out there by Lark's creek just yesterday", said Diana Schneider, chairwoman of the TCCS. "All of the fish out there are horribly sick, and the water is this horrible purplish-black color! I can't believe that nothing has been done sooner." When reached for comment, Julian McClintock, owner of the McClintock coal mine, said in a letter to the press, "I understand the concern of the TCCS, but there is nothing wrong. I personally invite Ms. Schneider to visit our facility. I am sure it will put her mind at ease."

Newspaper Clipping from the Stevensville Herald, July 7th, 1987

Environmentalist Group Retracts Lawsuit

Diana Schneider, chairwoman of the Thomas County Conservation Society, issued a public statement Sunday retracting her previous vow to sue the McClintock coal mine. "I've done a personal inspection of the facility, and there is no pollution of any sort. The facility is remarkably clean and environmentally friendly. There is nothing wrong. I apologize for misleading the public on this issue". Transcript from a broadcast of the radio show "Richard Ellison's Haunted America", July 10th, 1987

RICHARD: Alright folks, up next we have a caller by the name of Alice Hartford from Stevensville, Colorado, here to relate her experiences living in a haunted house. ALICE: Thank you Richard. I'm just so happy to be able to talk to someone about this. RICHARD: The pleasure is mine Mrs. Hartford. So, tell me, when exactly did your troubles begin? ALICE: Well, I'm not sure exactly, but I first noticed something was wrong on the fourth of July, just under a week ago. My family and a couple friends were celebrating with a barbeque in the backyard. Well, the beer had started to run dry, so I just popped down into the basement to get some. We kept it down there to make sure my daughter doesn't see it lying around and mistake it for some pop. And then... well, you'll think I'm crazy... RICHARD: Trust me Alice, whatever happened, you can tell me. My listeners and I make sure to keep an open mind about these things. ALICE: Well, I started to hear... voices. [THERE IS AN EXTENDED PAUSE, AROUND 1-2 SECONDS] ALICE: I couldn't understand anything the voices were saying, it definitely wasn't English, just sort of strange sounds, but it was certainly a voice. Why, I panicked so badly, worried there were burglars, I ran all the way up the stairs and out of the house and told Mark to get down there. RICHARD: Mark is your husband? ALICE: Yes, I'm sorry, I should have mentioned that. RICHARD: Its quite alright, please continue Mrs. Hartford. ALICE: He obliged me, even took that damn rifle of his which scares me so much. But the voices had stopped by the time he was down there. I was sure I was going crazy. As a matter of fact, it wasn't until 2 days later that I became convinced I didn't just imagine it. RICHARD: Oh? And why was that? ALICE: Well, it was around midday, Mark was off at work and my daughter, Jessica, was at school. I was heading into the basement to put in a load of laundry, when I heard those voices again! For a moment I was worried I was losing my mind, but I had an idea. I quickly set down the laundry and ran to Mark's office. He keeps a tape recorder there, y'know, to take notes when he brings work home. Anyway, I bring it with me back to the basement and start recording. I was sure that if the recording could be heard afterwards that I wasn't going nuts. And it worked! RICHARD: Do you still have this recording? ALICE: Yes, just a moment [THERE ARE SOUNDS OF FIDDLING WITH A TAPE RECORDER, FOLLOWED BY HARSH WHISPERS IN AN UNKNOWN LANGUAGE. THE VOICES SIMULTANEOUSLY SOUND NEARBY AND DISTANT AT THE SAME TIME. AFTER THIS POINT, THE RECORDING DEGENERATES INTO A HIGH PITCHED SCREECH, FOLLOWED BY A THUDDING SOUND. THE TAPE RECORDER CLICKS AND THE RECORDING ENDS] RICHARD: What were those sounds at the end of the recording Mrs. Hartford? ALICE: Frankly, I'm not sure. I seemed to have blacked out around then, when I woke up it was about 3 hours later, and I was lying face up in the basement. I had a nasty bump on the back of my head, so I figured I fell down the stairs." RICHARD: Have you heard the voices since? ALICE: Yes, nearly every night... I've tried to tell my husband but… RICHARD: He doesn't believe you? ALICE: I'm not sure, I've tried to tell him, I've even shown him the recording once or twice, but he just doesn't seem to process the words, he just goes silent and smiles blankly until I change the subject. He doesn't seem to understand that he does it! That isn't the worst part though. RICHARD: Why, what else happened? ALICE: I told you I hear those voices every night, and I mean that. But I haven't been purposefully going down to the basement every night Mr. Ellison, I just keep waking up there, as if I've been sleepwalking. I seem to wake up right before something dreadful will happen, because the voices keep sounding frustrated whenever I do. Once I even swore I saw something down there with me, and I still can't get it out of my head. RICHARD: Tell me what you saw. ALICE: It was hard to see in the dark, but it was short, maybe about 4 feet tall. It looked human in outline, more or less, but the proportions were all wrong. The limbs seemed thinner than they should be and the head was far too large for its neck. The main thing I could make out were its eyes, these horrible, soulless eyes that reflected the faint light coming from the open basement door. It seemed to panic when I noticed it, and then suddenly I was back in my bed, with a horrible bruise on my temple. I must have hit my head on the way back to bed. That was only last night, I'm horrified to think what will happen tonight! Anonymous letter sent to the Fortean magazine "Unknown Phenomena", January 7th, 1993

I was reading the recent article about underground coal fires from last February's issue, and I must protest. What happened in Stevensville on July 18th, 1987 was not a coal fire, at least not entirely. I'm no geologist, nor can I say I have much knowledge of the mining industry at large, but there is no doubt in my mind that there was something more going on.

I remember waking up that night to the sounds of screams. I ran outside to see what was happening, and was greeted to a scene right out of Hell. I saw dozens, maybe hundreds of people marching up towards the McClintock coal mine. Each of them was carrying another person, someone who was struggling to escape. They all marched in unison, staring straight ahead, smiling an inhuman artificial grimace which I hope to God I never see again. The people in their arms were begging to be let go, pleading to be put down. I saw one smiling marcher had both his eyes torn out by the person he was carrying, but all he did was keep walking like a goddamn robot. You ever see a bunch of ants moving in a straight line? Looking at those dead-eyed automatons march mindlessly up the road was just like that.

At some point a police officer ran up to me and started explaining that there was a coal fire, that I had to get out of here. Smoke was pouring out of the ground, and my vision started to get a bit hazy. I asked him why those people were being carried up to the mine, and he just looked at me with blank eyes and a mechanical smile and said "Everything is fine. It is all going to be okay". I got the Hell out of there as soon as I could, I was worried that if I stayed I'd get taken away too. I think I woke up too early, I don't think I was meant to see what I saw. I only started to hear sirens and police announcements via megaphone as I was leaving town.

The worst part wasn't the strange police officer, or the awful marchers, or Hell, even the whole damn town being evacuated. It was the thing I saw following the marchers up the hill. I only caught glimpses, but I swear, I saw something else walking alongside them. Like I said, I didn't get a clear look. It was dark, and smoky, and I was half-asleep, but I know I saw it. It stood about the height of a child, and dressed in funny clothes, like the kind of uniform you'd see on one of those science fiction shows. I didn't get a clear look at its head, but I could see shiny black eyes and pale white skin. The thing moved wrong, as though it didn't have the same muscles and bones that we had. It vanished into the crowd after I got distracted by the eyeless marcher, but I swear I saw it, I swear it was real. Everyone I've tried to tell about this just thinks I was hallucinating from the smoke, but I know what I saw was real. I don't care if y'all believe me or not, that is for the readers to decide for themselves, but I'll be damned if I let this get swept under the rug. People have got to know.

- - -

This final document is rather unusual. It is the most coherent entry from a journal kept by an unidentified individual who identified only as "251". 251 was found unconscious and unresponsive near the entrance of a Denver subway station on August 12th, 1992. Following her recovery, 251 became homeless, unable to retain a job due to her mental illness. She died under unknown circumstances in a shelter on December 2nd, 1995. The extensive loss of public records owing to devastating earthquake of July 18th means that it is impossible to verify if 251 is a former resident of Stevensville, but her journal seems to support this conclusion. Most of the journal is unintelligible, consisting of strange symbols, scribbles, doodles, and strings of numbers and letters, but the entry below is relatively readable, if bizarre. Spelling and capitalization errors have been partially corrected for ease of reading.

- - - Journal entry of the individual known as 251, date unknown My name my name they took away my name. Carved it out and chopped it up and dissected it and put something else in instead. Something metal and hard and sharp that I feel slicing my memories like a surgeon's scalpel. 251 is number designation identity differentiation. 251 was unimportant only the work I could perform for the SUNLESS ONES was important.

They are known by many names. DERO and KOBOLD and GRAY. But to me they are the SUNLESS ONES for they hide from the sun like skittering silverfish scuttling away from a dangling light bulb. Hiding away in the HOLLOW PLACE.

Came up through the mines first using radio waves and thought-particles and whispers in the ear of the OWNER. His designation became 001 first of the ones they took. They had to leave him mostly intact undamaged because if others knew what they did their plan would be for nothing. So they came to him in dreams and visions and sounds and he dug to them. He went down into the earth and pulled them out from the HOLLOW PLACE like they were coal.

The miners they took first. Needed total compliance complete control. Sliced out their souls and put in machinery and wires and radio. Partial conversions were best the full conversions didn't fool anybody. Sometimes they'd just take out everything for fun and see how long they could last. Nobody cared. Nobody knew. The police were already quiet from the machines they had in their heads. Scars so small you could barely see them unless you were looking. I have one too.

It was 7181987 that they came up from the ground to complete their quota. Going too slow and they needed builders and guinea pigs. Cut off all the phones and scrambled the radios and dug their way up. Had to be night the sun burns the pale eggshell skin of the SUNLESS ONES. The already converted helped grab the rest. They did not need everybody. Only needed a third. The rest could burn or run and it did not matter.

I was taken down down down into the mine by the other converted and processed. Scooped out old memories and put in rules and protocols and small ticking noises that prevented sleep. I worked and worked and worked for days and days and days. The SUNLESS ONES poked and prodded and laughed in the horrible tittering way of the HOLLOW PLACE. Given slurry to eat and drink just enough to keep alive to operate the MACHINES. I could not think they took that part out and put in a transceiver just above the left eye.

It was near one of the MACHINES when I broke. When the transceiver failed. Pressing the right buttons at the right times for hours and hours. A nanosecond delay was not permissible. Punished by pain. Shovel the dead into the MACHINE. But something went wrong and the MACHINE failed. It was so so old ancient prehistoric older than us by infinite magnitudes. A blast of rays and magnetism and the false brain in my head was shattered like glass. I was free to scream and cry and think and love and kill.

I killed a SUNLESS ONE. I bashed its bulbous head against the hard cold rock until the warm sour blood spilled like yolk from an egg and its cold black eyes were dead and still. I took the pain box and left to climb the miles high exit shaft into the blinding light of the upperworld. I was free. Now I am broken and unable to be repaired. The right parts are missing miles and miles below the ground. There are entrances in the subways and the elevators and the forgotten sub-basements. But I am free and I will never go back. I just wish I still had my name.

---

Despite requests for its release, 251's autopsy report has not been made available. In addition, the so-called "pain box" device which 251 obsessively clung to throughout the final years of her life was found to be missing from police evidence. Of the 1348 former inhabitants of Stevensville, Colorado, 447 remain unaccounted for. The entire town is abandoned and forgotten, save as an occasional inclusion on a list of "ghost towns". The documents above are all that remains to indicate anything unusual beyond a simple coal fire ever occurred. Perhaps some things truly are better left buried.

#horror fiction #horror #horror story

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usfwspacific · 7 years

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‘Why We Volunteer’: Keith and Brenda Krejci Tell The Story of Two Dedicated Volunteers

Our dedicated U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service volunteers in the Pacific Region gave an incredible 230,919 hours of their time to conservation in 2016. That is the equivalent of 28,864 eight-hour work days! These incredible folks deserve a huge thank you and during National Volunteer Week (April 23-29) we are aiming to do just that. This is one of a series of blogs about U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service volunteers. Share your story of service or honor an outstanding volunteer by telling us about it with #iServeBecause on Facebook or Twitter.

Keith and Brenda Krejci have lived in their motor home and traveled the country since November 2005. Along the way they volunteer at National Wildlife Refuges, Bureau of Land Management, and state parks. They have volunteered across the Pacific Northwest, including the last four years at two Oregon National Wildlife Refuges -- Bandon Marsh and Oregon Islands. This is their story.

By Keith and Brenda Krejci

We’re sometimes asked “why do you volunteer?” After all, we’re in our golden years of retirement, and could park in a resort, sit around the pool, and play Bingo each night. So here’s our story:

When we decided to retire to a motor home, we knew we wanted to do something other than just travel, spend time in RV parks, and visit attractions. Both Brenda and I were always interested in learning more about wildlife, birds, and history, but work, family, and life in general never gave us the time. And so we decided to give volunteering at try.

We started by searching volunteer.gov, where every federal and some state volunteer positions are advertised. We settled on searching for openings with U.S. Fish and Wildlife, and sent off applications to the few that interested us. One day, while out shopping, we received a call from the volunteer coordinator at Lee Metcalf NWR in Stevensville, Montana, asking us if we were interested in spending the summer there. We’d be the first “resident” volunteers to stay on their new RV pads, so it was a first for both of us. We accepted, and that April 2006 was the beginning of a journey that has far exceeded our hopes and dreams of full-time RVing.

We look back now and are so grateful that we were lucky enough to fall into Lee Metcalf NWR as our first experience. The staff was welcoming, the area was incredibly beautiful, the wildlife was spectacular, and most of all we were encouraged to explore and learn. We laugh now looking back – we were given a set of keys to the visitor center and told “You guys are it on the weekends”, and knowing we’d be asked questions about the many birds and waterfowl on the refuge, spent hours poring through Sibley Birding Guides and quizzing each other. It wasn’t long before we realized that we were having fun learning – and enjoying being able to share our newfound knowledge. Within a month, we were comfortable in explaining wildlife to visitors, helping teach children’s environmental education, and leading tours.

Spending a summer in the Bitterroot Valley gave us an opportunity to explore some of the country that is billed as “the last best place.” Brenda saw her first moose, I caught cutthroat trout in remote mountain streams, and we made lifetime friends that we still visit every year.

Since that experience we’ve volunteered at other U.S. Fish & Wildlife locations, Oregon and Washington State Parks, The Nature Conservancy, and the Bureau of Land Management. With very few exceptions, we’ve been welcomed, appreciated, and best of all, educated in a new facet of nature. We’ve become proficient birders, versed in the history of the fisheries of the Western U.S., and amateur naturalists. We’ve led wildlife and nature walks, given evening programs on seals and sea lions, and guided people at Pacific tide pools. But most of all, we’ve had the opportunity to teach children about the wonders of nature as Junior Ranger program hosts.

We look back to our first volunteer job, where Bob, our boss and mentor, once said, “We’re raising a generation of flat screen children, and if we don’t get them involved in nature, we’ll loose our parks and refuges.” We’ve taken those words to heart, and whenever possible concentrate on getting children engaged and interested. We’ve found that even disinterested young teens will drop the attitude of “what-ever,” and become interested if you present nature in an interesting way.

After a few years, we decided that we’d focus on “interpretive” hosting only, although we’ve done a bit of maintenance here and there. In the volunteer world, “interpretive hosting” is understood as the means to explain nature and wildlife in terms that are interesting, easy to understand, and relevant to the audience. It’s often confusing to campers, like the lady that knocked on our door with a letter written in Spanish and wanted us to translate it for her. We explained that we couldn’t do that, and she pointed to our sign; “but it says you’re interpretive hosts.”

Teaching children has given us so many great memories. Like the French children whose mother was frustrated because they wouldn’t remove their beaded salamander necklaces that they made at a Junior Ranger class – even to sleep or shower. Or the little boy, who after being issued his Junior Ranger badge and taught the “secret” sign, ran to his grandfather yelling, “grandpa, grandpa! I learned the secret sign! ... I’ll show it to you for five bucks!” But most of all, the mother of a child with learning disabilities who broke down in tears telling us that he had recited everything we’d taught him about hummingbirds – something he’d never done before.

Besides the enjoyment we get from sharing our knowledge, there are other advantages to volunteering. As part of the volunteer agreement, we’re given a free site with full hookups, and sometimes other perks such as a phone line or washer/dryer access. Most of the sites are superior to the camping sites, and some, like at refuges, are spacious and away from the crowd.

Spending three months or so in an area also gives us a chance to explore. We choose volunteer sites based on the location; places we’re interested in spending time exploring and learning about. The Bitterroot Valley of Montana, surrounded by the Bitterroot and Sapphire mountains, was like nothing we’d ever seen, and our stay gave us the chance to visit the Big Hole valley and battlefield, Glacier National Park, and follow the route of Lewis and Clark. Our time in Spearfish, S.D., gave us the chance to follow Custer’s route through the black hills, travel the Needles Highway, see Mount Rushmore, Devil’s Tower, and get in some great trout fishing.

The northern Washington coast was amazing for its view of the Olympic Mountains and the Straits of Juan de Fuca. We rode the ferry to Seattle and Whidbey Island, toured Forks and Twilight’s land of vampires and werewolves, and visited snow-covered Mount Hood. But of all the great places we’ve been, we keep coming back to the Oregon Coast. The beauty of sea stacks and pounding surf, the amazing wildlife and the abundance of berries and seafood, and the temperate climate keep drawing us back. We still haven’t found the perfect place to settle down some day, but the Oregon Coast edges out Montana by just a bit so far. But there are more places to see.

An important part of our life that we hadn’t really considered was the joy of learning and understating the world around us. We’ve taught people about birds, raptors, and waterfowl, led wildlife and nature walks, explained the history of fisheries in the west, coastal defense of the Northwest, and lighthouse history; developed programs about seals and sea lions, and guided visitors at tide pools. All of this was new to us, and the challenge of learning new subjects at each location has been invigorating and, we think, keeps us young at heart. This from a couple, who at retirement only knew birds as robins and all others, ducks as mallards and all others, and who thought all seals and sea lions were the same.

And finally, we’ve made so many good friends – fellow volunteers, refuge and park staff, and visitors. We’ve found that we’re a part of a community wherever we go, and visit friends we made wherever we travel. We all have the same thing in common, we’re not competing with each other, and we all truly love what we do. What could be better than that?

We don’t have any plans to stop what we’re doing, and look forward to many more adventures. If you’re interested in joining us on the volunteer road, let us know, we'd be glad to help in any way.

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