There I was, perched in front of my computer monitor, trying to come up with ideas for a week’s worth of radio shows, when a noise started picking at the edges of my consciousness. I think I was about to wrap my mind around a fantastic topic, but the sound made me lose my grip. From that moment on, I couldn’t concentrate on anything but that nearly inaudible sound.
I finally got up from the computer and started trying to figure out where the sound was coming from. I made an effort to follow the whine, but I seemed to keep moving away from it. Every step I took, no matter which direction I went, seemed to make it fainter than before.
I concentrated harder, and there it was again. I moved a bit. It got louder. I thought I heard the word “Blackhall.” I moved again. Louder still, and this time, it sounded like “McAnulty.” I wasn’t sure, but I thought I heard the word “creek,” too. After a few minutes of this, I found myself in the back yard, standing near the door to the garage. I was on the right track. When I opened the garage door, it was suddenly clear. It was my topographic maps calling out to me. And sure enough, they were saying, “Blackhall Mountain Quadrangle” and “McAnulty Creek.”
I’m not overly superstitious, but when my maps start talking to me, I tend to listen. It was pretty clear they were telling me I needed to pull out the Blackhall Mountain map and find McAnulty Creek. I did just that, and I plan to put myself at that point on the map at my earliest convenience. As I said, I’m not very superstitious, and I’m a terrible fisherman, so I doubt it was a sign that I’ll catch the new state record, or any fish, for that matter, but it was definitely a sign that I need to get outside for a day or two, of only to get the maps to stop talking to me.
I’m going to go fishing now. While I’m gone, why don’t you see what your maps are saying to you?
