Official "Wisp" Launch!!

Today, April 13 (yes, the 13th) is the official book release day for my novel Wisp. It is available on Amazon in paperback and Kindle, and Barnes & Noble's website (www.barnesandnoble.com) in NOOK as well as on Smashwords in other ebook formats. So we're having a novel launch party for the rest of the week! Until Friday you can order a print copy of Wisp for only $13.00 INCLUDING shipping!

Let me tell you about Wisp: There is a psychotic killer on the loose in Ellerton. Sheriff Stan Murphy and his paranormal journalist nephew Alex Fiedler have their hands full trying to keep the townspeople calm while keeping the city officials satisfied with their progress. And the killer is not stopping. The bodies keep piling up and the physical evidence defies explanation. Something strange is afoot in Ellerton, and Alex isn’t the only one looking at other-worldly answers. Please feel free to comment, or check out my website at www.kevinrmaze.com. But this special price is only good until Friday, April 15. After that, like a wisp, they're gone...

A Non-Hiker Goes Hiking, Part 2

Before turning in for the night, my sister told me I may hear strange noises outside my tent: squirrels, birds, or some other woodland creature. I slept pretty well inside the tent in my sleeping bag and wool blanket and, kept fairly warm. After the three mile hike earlier in the day, I probably could have slept standing up. But I woke briefly at 3:00 AM and heard… nothing. Absolutely nothing. I live in the city so I am used to hearing distant cars, the occasional siren, a dog barking, something. But here there was nothing; no people, no vehicles, no birds, no wind, just silence. It was eerie.

I fell back to sleep and woke again just after 5:00 AM and heard a rustle in the leaves just outside my tent. In fact, it sounded as if it was just by my head. It breaks down like this: Something rustling; thin fabric of the tent; my head. So then my mind starts racing. What if whatever is outside the tent can smell my head through the tent, consider me an interloper, and attacks? Can I move fast enough to escape the slashing paw through the fabric and go for the door by my feet, undo BOTH the screen door zipper and front door zipper, and then escape before I’m eaten alive? Or would I emerge to find the rest of the coyotes waiting for me after having been driven from the tent per their plan? Or would I find the four members of the Manson family armed with their bloody machetes and no backpacks?

However, the rustling picked up becoming louder, and then I realized as the sun was coming up that the wind was growing stronger since the mountain was beginning to warm, and the cold and heat started to mingle. Nothing odd, just nature.

My brother-in-law had emerged, started a fire, and put a pot of coffee on a portable gas-powered heater. I had never had percolated coffee before, especially in the cool, crisp morning as the sun emerged and slowly poured onto the small town below. I also had no idea that it takes about an hour to prepare so standing atop a tall mountain while waiting for a hot cup o’ joe was a new experience for me. After being assured there was nothing like campfire coffee, we ate our breakfast of orange cranberry nut muffins, dehydrated eggs, and instant (as in just add water) pudding. It was very delicious. And there is nothing like campfire coffee first thing in the morning.

Shortly afterward we walked a little ways to what was the true summit, a slightly higher level maybe a hundred yards away where an old ranger outpost once stood. And near there was a little round disc on a stone (so many large stones that I felt like I was in “The Lord of the Rings”!). The disc was placed there by a geological survey confirming the elevation of Dugger Mountain. We were now, officially, on the second highest peak in Alabama. By the way, the first highest peak, Mount Cheaha, could be seen across the other side of the valley below.

We went back to the camp and packed up everything we had unpacked the evening before, and kicked dead leaves to cover our tent sites. Leave no footprint, they said. I should mention here briefly about the different types of plant life and insects there. The trip could have been a great nature expedition. Moss covered many of the rocks and fallen trees, much of it either faded or a different type of greenery. There were several purple violets, but the higher we went we saw violets with markings that could only be described as daisies; each petal had a yellow circle near the center with white stripes coming from it. In fact, when I first saw it I thought it was a tiny daisy on the violet. Nope, just the way it looked. There were also green plants that looked like a clover to me, but were purple on the back side. My brother-in-law made the observation of the assorted rocks—can I call them boulders?—that had emerged from the mountain, obvious signs of various stages of formation and development of this particular peak. We had to be careful where we walked; again, we were fortunate to have our hiking poles (which honestly, he didn’t need).

We begin our descent down the mountain, which was much quicker than the ascent the previous afternoon. As we hiked down, the weather became warmer, and there seemed to be more insects out. A few flies landed on me on the three miles down and I was surprised to see how big they were; about the size of my thumbnail. They landed and were not intimidated when I shooed them away. We also saw black butterflies with white stripes in the midst of several black moths with white dots; at first glance I thought they too were butterflies until I realized these tiny creatures, no bigger than my fifth fingernail, must have been born that small since butterflies come from caterpillars. There were also many other butterflies and moths, but the insect that amazed me the most was a dung beetle rolling dung (what else?). I’ve seen them on television shows, but did not expect to see any in the Alabama woods.

Finally, we reached the bottom and came to the side of the road where our car waited for us. A good sign. The Toyota Camry that had been in front of us was gone. Our car was fine. It had not been stolen or broken into, and we had not been mercilessly killed. Once again, a little more faith in humanity has been restored. And yes, I am embarrassed and ashamed for thinking the worst of those kind people. Maybe that’s why people go hiking. To get away from the hustle-and-bustle of the everyday world and get back to nature, to a simpler way of life. To realize that people are people, and that there’s a world that is cruel and harsh, but also very beautiful and wonderful. It gives us an opportunity to respect nature, respect others, and to test ourselves, to take us beyond our comfort zones and bring us to a place where we can step outside ourselves and be a part of something that existed before we were born and will remain long after we’re gone. To rejuvenate, to reclaim that part within us that lies dormant, thanks to the conveniences of our modern lives. To become one with nature and find what it means to be human.

A Non-Hiker Goes Hiking, Part 1

This past weekend I climbed Dugger Mountain, the second highest peak in Alabama. I was invited by my sister and her husband, both experienced hikers, to make the 3 mile hike to the summit. Not sure what to expect, other than a fun time and a sense of accomplishment, I went.

Dugger Mountain is in the Talladega National Forest, approximately three and a half hours from Montgomery. My sister said she and her husband hiked it before, and that they love it because nobody else goes there. Perhaps other overnight hikers prefer other places to climb. When we finally got to the bottom of the mountain to begin our ascent we saw two automobiles; one Jeep with two backpackers (and a medium/large sized dog), and a Toyota Camry. My sister told me with a surprised expression that nobody ever comes here, but apparently other people couldn’t resist the beautiful sunny day perfect for a hike.

When we got out of the car, two men and two women, emerged from the woods and went to the Camry. And unlike us, and the couple in the Jeep, they did not have any backpacks or hiking gear. One of the men looked like a wild-eyed Sam Elliott, and the other (I kid you not) looked like Charles Manson, minus the swastika on the forehead. And they began asking us questions like “Where are you hiking? The north trail or the south trail?” “Are you spending the night?” And we’re about to climb three miles straight up with our car parked behind this Camry. By the way, my Kindle was in the car since I’d read stories from it on the way up (which I’ll not bring on an overnight hiking trip again). My sister said it was not unusual for hikers to ask others questions, just that it was unusual for other people to be hiking this mountain when they go. So I, the novice, wondered why these four people came from the woods without any gear and began a barrage of questions. Of course, there were three possibilities: 1) They were going to break into the car, steal my Kindle, and everything else not tied down; 2) They were going to steal the car; or, 3) They were going to follow us up the mountain and kill us all. Let the hike begin!

About 30 minutes into the hike—with a 40-50 lb. pack on my back—my left hip started to hurt, but there was still a long way to go. We had hiking poles, which looked like ski poles, and they were invaluable. So we continued our trek with my brother-in-law in front on “snake and spider web patrol”. About halfway up, he stopped, looked behind at us and smiled. “What is it?” I asked. “Snake,” he said. This black and gray snake lay right in the middle of our trail and was not going anywhere. To my untrained eye, I’d say he was about four or five feet long. But the snake did not react. So my brother in law went around it. And then, moments later (several moments later) my sister and I did, too. But the snake did not move, dart, spin, or react in any way. “Just sunning,” my brother-in-law told us.

We stopped a few times to catch our breath, drink some water, and eat some GORP for energy. GORP stands for “Granola, Oatmeal, Raisins, and Peanuts,” although ours had banana chips, almonds, coconut, papaya, and raisins. Finally, we reached the top of Dugger Mountain in about two and a half hours where we looked down on a tiny town below and had an almost 360 degree panoramic view (I say almost because trees obscured much of the view. Did I mention this was the wilderness?). We rested a few minutes and then began setting up camp. Remember, you bring with you everything you need (water, food, tent, toilet paper), and leave no sign of it when you leave. We set up our tents (which were blowing away in the cold wind that blows on top of the 2nd highest peak in the state), rolled out our sleeping bags, and gathered wood for a fire. We grabbed only good wood that had fallen down, which means we did not chop down any living trees nor use wet, damp limbs. Therefore, we had to chop limbs from fallen trees using a sharp knife that would make Crocodile Dundee proud (Search “Crocodile Dundee knife” to see the clip if you haven’t seen the movie). This was very exhausting, especially considering I just hiked three miles up a mountain with a sore left hip and then some (yes, I am going to keep saying how far I hiked). We saw four hawks circling above us. Maybe they were vultures. I told them to keep flying because we would be coming back down the mountain! Ironically (or because of this), they flew away.

Finally, it was time to start the fire, which we could not do with a lighter because that just wouldn’t be cool. Instead, we pulled out some cotton balls coated with Vaseline. Why? Because Vaseline is petroleum jelly, and petroleum does what? Yes, it burns. So we laid some kindling in the fire pit my brother-in-law made on a previous excursion, then put a pulled-apart Vaseline-coated cotton ball on top, and whipped out the flint and steel. I’m not joking. They make this flint and steel in an orange plastic box designed for camping. My brother in law, the former fireman, showed me how to use the steel to strike against the flint to spark onto the ball. Once the spark lit the mound, I blew into it to get it going, then added more sticks and—voila!—a campfire.

My sister told me this was a luxury trip, which means they brought meat to grill, coucous to warm up, French bread and Alouette cheese, and a bag of wine (which was in a box, but bagged wine is easier to pack than boxed wine). Yep, this made “roughing it” not so rough. Soon, the sun had set and the stars came out on a clear night. Although the trees obscured a lot of the night sky (although many of them had yet to bloom), we could still see several constellations. And while we sat around the campfire, eating our meals and drinking our wine underneath the stars, we heard a howling in the distance. My sister and brother-in-law looked at each other with wide eyes and deep affection, and said, “Coyotes! Oh, we’ve never heard coyotes before!” This was turning into a trip of firsts, but my inexperienced mind wondered, “Where are they? If they’re below us, are they coming up? Or are they in the woods waiting for a snack?” After being assured they would not harm us, and after the meal was over, we turned in for the evening.

Did I come home?! To be continued...