Like Clear Lake, Fort Bragg was also adjacent to the Mendocino National Forest, so it afforded Blake a free place to camp. Most campgrounds in California cost at least $20 a night, and some cost as much as hotels. Blake drove into the woods and found a place to park. There was another campsite nearby, so he went over to greet the occupants. He found a broken-down latrine, a campfire with a spit built over it, and an open tent cluttered with dirty clothes. Inside lay a ruddy-faced shirtless man and a pale woman with piercing eyes wearing a dress made of black spider-webs. The man’s name was Ralph and the woman’s name was Minerva. Minerva said she knew magic; Ralph said they were both recovering addicts. They seemed friendly enough. Blake camped far away from them, which seemed polite.
Each day, he went into Fort Bragg to look for work. At first, he tried to find a job in town. This was a real frontier town. Most of the buildings were one-story, made of wooden boards. There were a few tourist traps, a grocery store, a video rental, a music shop… nobody was hiring. The whole coast seemed constantly shrouded in fog and drizzle. The shore was rocky and the ocean was frigid. The locals acted friendly, but not helpful.
After a few days, Blake started going to the library instead, using the wi-fi to look through hiring websites. These websites were even more depressing. Most of the postings were scams or pyramid schemes. The rest listed exorbitant requirements or insulting wages. Most employers wouldn’t hire anybody who didn’t have a local address. Ralph and Blake drove across the mountains to a town called Willits, where they moved some furniture for an old lady and made $100 each. Ralph had a knack for getting small jobs from strangers. When they got back, Blake found that someone had fired a shotgun through his water jug and crushed his tent with a log. He moved his camp farther into the woods.
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To bathe, Blake went down to the beach in swim-shorts and a tee shirt. Cliffs yawned wide like the jaws of death, shrouded in frigid fog. Some families sat on blankets on the sand, but they looked at him like he was crazy when they saw him go down to the water. He dunked his head in the icy black surf, thinking of the millions of sailors lost at sea. He could barely stand a single minute, but at least he managed to wash himself all over. He washed his dishes in the ocean under the disapproving gazes of those few families, then went back to his car to wrap himself in a blanket.
Quoth Eliot:
Also pray for those who were in ships, and
Ended their voyage on the sand, in the sea's lips
Or in the dark throat which will not reject them
Or wherever cannot reach them the sound of the sea bell's
Perpetual angelus.
When Blake got back to his camp, Ralph was freaking out. He said that his fire was out of control. It was going to burn down the forest. Blake went to see. The fire was smoldering, but Ralph insisted that it was spreading underground through the pine needles. No amount of logic or evidence could dissuade him. Ralph handed Blake several empty jugs and insisted that he sneak up to a nearby house and fill the jugs from their spigot. Blake took the jugs silently, went back to his camp, packed up his belongings, and drove away, leaving the jugs on the ground.
He parked alongside the road and fell asleep in the back seat. A few hours later, around 2 am, a pudgy man with a white goatee, a red track jacket, and a golf club knocked on his window and said, “I know times are hard, but you can’t stay here.” Blake drove a few more miles into the forest and got a little sleep. He was furious, but he chuckled at the idea of the old man getting out of bed in the middle of the night to deal with a car parked on the street.
In the morning, he went back to the library and started looking for an apartment.