by Albert Allen

Created on: February 19, 2009

Charlie and the Scout
Santa Marcella is a rugged little island thirty five miles off California's central coast. The northern end is made inaccessible by vertical cliffs two hundred high thrusting up from the sea. They form the edge of rugged mountains that rise to three thousand feet and then gradually descend for twenty miles to grassy plains and sandy beaches in the south. There is a cattle ranch on the leeward side of the southern end and a transmitter tower on ocean side to the north. The company I work for owns the tower and keeps an old Ford Scout at the ranch for service trips to the transmitter. That's what Charlie was here for and I was here to help Charlie.

Charlie was already at the ranch. He hitched a ride on the ranch boat from Monterey the night before. I flew in from Ventura on a chartered Cessna that would be back at the end of the day to take Charlie and me back to the mainland. Charlie was a seasoned veteran at this and was a new hire rookie sent here to learn from the master. It turned into an adventure when the old Ford Scout overheated and Charlie so angry he wanted to kill it.

Charlie was an excitable and impetuous man from the hills of Tennessee. When he noticed the engine was getting hot he stepped on the gas and started to curse, which made the problem worse and overheated Charlie as well. Soon we were racing over the top of the island. The old Ford Scout was bouncing and buckling; skidding and swerving all over the dusty dirt road carved in the side of a mountain. Charlie's voice was getting higher cursing the old Ford Scout.
His knuckles were white from holding the steering wheel tight and his eyes bulged out of his head. With a cloud of steam in front and a cloud of dust behind, Charlie couldn't see a thing.

We made it to the central valley where a clear freshwater stream cut a channel through the road with eighteen inch high, gravel embankments on each side. Charlie stopped and got out, leaving the motor running. He kicked the door closed and cursed the steaming Ford before walking to the stream bed. I got out and opened the hood.

"I'm going to shut off the engine." I shouted over the hissing steam and engine noise. "When it cools down we can fill the radiator with water from the stream."

Charlie was bending over the new embankment that marked the end the road. He had one hand on his forehead like the bill of a baseball cap. The other was waving at his side as if he were shooing flies away from his backside.
"No! No! We can't do that."

• 1
• 2
• Next Page >>